Marik Observant: The Man in the Mage
by Erico
Summary: Marik Observant is a fledgling Sorceror in search of a life worth living. Desperate for funds, he and his imp familiar will join forces with a veteran swordsman and a young healer on a quest to hunt down and destroy the Grey Shadow. Through their adventures and trials, he will find more than the life worth living; he will find himself. A story written in an original setting.
1. Prologue: The Lost Child

**Prologue: The Lost Child**

_The Roadside Temple of Weyveliste, South Central Korleen_

_The Central Continent of Ashra, Terrus Proper_

_483 N.E. _

Tired and worn out after a journey whose length no living person knew, the tiny creature known as Marik slept in a makeshift crib. A breadbasket with a few loose towels was a poor excuse for one, but beggars could not be choosers.

Orphans had to settle for what was on hand, especially in the threadbare Roadside Temple. Desmond Rodian, the red-haired acolyte of Weyveliste who had been made responsible for his welfare, checked on him one more time before he stepped back and moved out of his sparse quarters. There was no better place for one of his kind, though. Travelers and those left without a home could only call upon the road, and to Weyveliste, the guardian of the paths. His mother, whoever she had been, had chosen well.

He emerged outside of his room and found himself face to face with Headmaster Williamson, the Roadside Temple's ruling authority. The old man had a few more wrinkles on his face as morning came on them.

"How is he, Desmond?" The gray-haired, gray-robed figure inquired.

"Alive, but tired." Acolyte Rodian replied, barely remembering to bow slightly at the end. "And his mother?"

"The rain stopped an hour ago. We will bury her at midday. Not in our cemetery, of course."

Rodian nodded. As she wasn't of the order, she couldn't be interred in the plot of land set aside for the Traveler's own. "So where, then?"

"I was hoping you might have an idea, Desmond." Williamson said. "You found her, after all. You brought her in."

"Headmaster, it was the right thing to do."

"Perhaps. Perhaps." His superior conceded. "But I've heard rumblings from the rest stationed here. They do not approve so readily. After all, Marik is an…"

"He is a child, Headmaster." Rodian interrupted, firmly denying the argument. "She asked for our protection, and you gave your word he would have it. It doesn't matter what the others think. Let them decide out of fear and ignorance. No, he will prove them all wrong."

Williamson smiled broadly at the claim. "It seems I was right to make you his guardian, Brother Rodian. He will need a strong advocate in the years to come, someone to learn from. Do your best by him."

"I will." Rodian promised. The younger man thought for a moment, then gestured to the bulge in the side pocket of Williamson's robe. "What have you learned about that amulet?"

"It is a medallion, Desmond." Williamson pulled the object of interest out of his pocket and held it up, becoming lost in the sparkles of gold, platinum, obsidian, and emerald. "It has strong magics in it, but the power it possesses does not advertise itself."

"She insisted that Marik was to receive it."

"And so he shall, when he is old enough to hear her story and understand it." Williamson tucked the medallion away again and folded his arms. "_To give him a life worth living_…That's what she said."

"What do you think it means?" Rodian asked.

"I'm sure I don't know." Williamson shrugged. "It might mean nothing at all. Perhaps she just wanted to know he would be safe before she went."

"And is he safe?" Rodian pressed.

The Headmaster hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "He is safer here than anywhere else he might have been brought to. But there will always be danger, because of what he is. And you cannot shelter him here forever, Desmond."

"I know. But he deserves a chance, doesn't he?"

"Everybody does." Williamson agreed. "Life is a gamble, and we all have one turn at the dice. Raise him, teach him well. His mother wanted him to have a life worth living. He will have to find it himself."

Rodian nodded, and had another thought just as his superior started to walk away. "Oh, sir?"

Williamson paused and looked back. "Yes, my son?"

"His mother." Rodian said quietly. "There is a tree at the top of the cemetery hill across the highway, a half mile from here. It is close to the cemetery, but not officially in its borders. We should bury her there, so she can always watch over him."

The Headmaster nodded at the sense of it, then walked off. For every living being at the Roadside Temple, morning had come.


	2. One: The Road's Beginning

**One: The Road's Beginning**

_The Roadside Temple of Weyveliste, Southern Korleen_

_503 N.E. (20 years later)_

The priests and groundskeepers of the Roadside Temple led a relatively quiet existence. Their home was defended by a wall that spanned the perimeter, and the only entrance was the thick doors that stood by the well-traveled road which ran straight through all of Korleen. As the followers of Weyveliste, the Traveler, they took in weary passerby and fed them, helping to keep them safe on their journey, whatever it might be. Nothing was more sacred than an open road and a life free to wander it wherever it might lead to the clerics who safeguarded the hospice kept for vagrants and caravans alike.

Second to the road in terms of sanctity was the temple itself, one of the few on Ashra which still stood in any great glory. Those who served in its walls were fiercely proud of the structure, which had stood for more than 600 years.

It was also why few appreciated the efforts of the two more permanent inhabitants of the Temple running about and across their home with no regard for the damage they might be causing.

Well, only one was truly running across them, Groundsman Wallace grumbled as he shook a grizzled hand at them. The other was an imp, a tiny creature which stood about a foot fall with dull reddish skin, leathery clawed wings, and unique to him alone, a loose fitting set of trousers and a brown leather vest sized perfectly for his minute form. The imp dashed through the air, his wings beating furiously. "You'll have to do better than that, boss!" The small infernal creature goaded his aggressor, blowing his tongue before flicking his barbed tail and flying on.

His pursuer was a man just under six and a half feet tall, dressed all in black robes of thick fabric. Long sleeves, extended with flaring ends dutifully sewn on by hand, hid his arms entirely from view. The hood of his robes was pulled up as well, so far that not even the barest hint of a face was visible beyond the fabric and the enshrouding enchantment of darkness it carried. A medium sized cloak of the same black fabric was tied to the back of the shoulders, and it trailed behind him in the wind. While it looked an uncomfortable garment, it was something that didn't seem to affect its user at all.

After all, Marik Observant reminded himself as he cautiously, but quickly followed the imp, he'd been wearing it for years, training himself in it. It was a second skin now, and one that he didn't expect he would ever go without again.

Marik narrowed his hidden eyes on the imp gleefully charging ahead of him and reached out. Unseen to everyone, he briefly focused his thoughts on an object which hung from his waist by a chain, hidden by the thick fabric of his black cloak. The small charm of a rabbit's foot remained as quiet as ever, but it performed the service asked of it; ahead of him, and within striking distance of the precocious winged devil, a glowing green hand of magical force flashed into existence, flexing briefly before reaching towards the tiny creature. Bony, and with six elongated fingers, the Sorceror's hand sought out its target.

The imp let out a squawk of dismay and altered its flight path, trying to avoid capture. The green hand's index finger bounced off of its wing, but beyond the minor scrape, it escaped unharmed and flew on, laughing. "You'll still have to do better than that, Marik! Trickery isn't going to catch me!"

Marik pursed his lips and transmitted a thought to the annoying creature. _**Morris, it doesn't take trickery to catch you. It just takes a well placed diversion.**_

The imp called Morris Redtail shared an empathic and telepathic connection with Marik Observant; this would have been a curious fact save for the truth that he was bound to the Sorceror.

But being classified as Marik's familiar did not mean that his will was any less unique. Morris was different from others of his kind, and that was why Marik had spent so much effort looking for him. The cost, or perhaps blessing, was that Morris Redtail retained all of who he had been before the summoning. He remained a sharp-tongued, quick-witted "flying rat", as the cooks called him. He and Marik got along splendidly as a unique pair of misfits. One was a reclusive Sorceror and the other was an imp who had long since broken from the traditional attitudes of his kind.

The hand flew by again, and Morris let out a yell of surprise as he dodged to the side. There was the briefest growl, soft and almost unnoticeable before two blazing balls of green light streaked out on either side of the winged scourge. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" He shouted, fearing for his life as the bolts of force swerved about and came at him. He turned himself about and started flying in the opposite direction, hoping that by some miracle, he could outrun the Sorceror's magic bolts.

As it stood, it didn't come to that. The moment he halted his flight and swerved in the opposite direction, Marik's glowing green hand of light clenched firmly about his waist and stopped him cold. Morris let out an undignified squawk and glowered at the Sorceror who came to rest with a final bound on the roof and nodded at him.

Marik gloated inside of his hood, Morris could feel it. _**Just a diversion.**_

"Screw you, Observant." The imp muttered, crossing his wings. The two magical projectiles spun about him before dissipating back into nothing, cancelled by a quick thought from their creator. "You never told me you'd be shooting at me!"

_**I never told you I wouldn't.**_ Marik replied, releasing his concentration and allowing the relic tied to his waist to fall silent again. The green hand of magical energy disappeared as well, and Morris flew over to perch on his covered shoulder. _**All the same, I do apologize if I worried you.**_

Morris baahed at him, waggling his eyebrows. "You know, given the nature of today, I'll forgive you."

Their conversation halted when the two heard a loud creaking groan, and Marik's footing felt a little less sure. Morris braced himself to leap off of him, staring about warily. "Ohhh, no. Boss, we aren't…"

The roof gave way under Marik's weight, and the Sorceror and imp collapsed together through the rotted wood beams into the room below…which, as luck would have it, was the central narthex itself. Unceremoniously, and interrupting the prayers of the Traveler's acolytes and priests within, they slammed hard across the marble pedestal at the front of the shrine, breaking a wooden carving of Weyveliste's holy symbol.

Amidst gasps and cries of horror, Morris and Marik both groaned, and the imp rubbed at his head. "Crackers, I knew this place was old, but _damn_. We shouldn't be falling through roofs."

One of the main clerics stepped up, his face seething with rage. "You shouldn't be _climbing_ on them in the first place. Marik! Morris! The both of you know better. Why, if you weren't leaving today to travel the road, I…" His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and he finally roared in exasperation. "Bah! Report to the Headmaster's office immediately, the both of you. I've no time to bother with punishments today."

Morris' wings and ears drooped down at that, reflecting Marik's mood as well.

_**I wish we'd fallen on Fardhaval instead of the shrine.**_Marik thought glumly, picking himself up and staring forlornly at the now ruined holy symbol there. Despite himself, Morris snickered, stopping only when Priest Fardhaval's sharp eyes zoomed in on him.

"We're going, we're going." Morris grumbled, and the two departed out of the temple's central shrine. "But just what do we do now? The Headmaster's going to kill us!"

_**No, he wouldn't kill us.**_Marik chastised his associate. _**But when he's done being disappointed, we'll wish he had.**_

* * *

><p>With no great excitement, and plenty of tension and worry to go around, Marik and Morris approached the thick oaken doors that led to the study and office of the Roadside Temple's overseer, the Headmaster.<p>

"You suppose that we could just leave?" Morris whined, flicking his tail back and forth anxiously. "I mean, he…"

_**You know as well as I do that wouldn't be right.**_ Marik chastised his companion, manifesting another green magical hand and rapping its knuckles against the door.

"I've been expecting you, boys. Come on in." Came the amiable voice within. Steeling himself, Marik flicked at the door with a quick wave of his hand, and it swung open easily from the telekinetic push.

Morris fluttered in ahead of Marik, shaking his head. "I swear, Headmaster, I had nothing to do with it this time! It was all Marik's fault, go ahead and ask him!"

Underneath his hood, the Sorceror glared at Morris. _**Morris, you traitorous…**_

The Headmaster, a smaller man dressed in brown robes with a white stole had his back turned to them, his arms tucked behind his back. "Well, if that's truly the case, then I suppose you share none of the consequences?"

"Absolutely!" Morris said, puffing out his chest.

The Headmaster turned and smiled at the two of them, his quiet gray eyes alight with some humor inside of him. "Well, Marik, allow me to thank you. That roof has been in need of repair for a decade now. Your accident will finally force our staff to fix the blasted thing."

Marik stared at the Headmaster with wide eyes, and Morris went slack-jawed.

"Well, I…I mean, he was chasing me at the time, so…" The imp started feebly.

The Headmaster chuckled and ran a hand through his wispy white hair.

"Rest easy, Morris. You're in no trouble from me, and there's no reward for it. It's work nonetheless." The Headmaster sighed and glanced at Marik with a sad smile. "My, my…Twenty years, and my boy's full grown."

Headmaster Desmond Rodian, long since advanced to the highest tier of the Traveler's order at the post, spoke as if the words hurt him. "But I didn't think that it would be this painful to say goodbye."

Marik slowly pushed his hands out of their long sleeves, exposing the unnatural and discolored flesh. He pushed his hood back to stare down at the Headmaster. Morris fluttered up on his shoulder, and took on a placid appearance, acting as the conduit for Marik's thoughts.

"But you knew this day was coming. You've known it for a long time." Morris said flatly, speaking Marik's thoughts.

"So I did, so I did. But I tried to ignore it, despite all your preparations." Rodian nodded, rubbing at the corner of his eye. "I should have known better than that. The Traveler's call is strong indeed. It brought me to this place, and it brought you to us. Now it takes you away."

Marik stirred at that, an uneasiness that the imp Morris duplicated. "I will always be grateful for all you've done for me, father."

"Aah, now." Rodian sniffled, walking around his desk to approach his adopted son, who now towered over him. "All I've done is give you a warm bed and a shoulder to cry on. You've done the rest yourself. None of us could have predicted when you first came to us that you would be blessed with such magical talents. It's your strength, you know."

"I just wish that I knew what my mother had meant, bringing me here." The Sorceror replied, still speaking through Morris. "When Headmaster Williamson left and gave me her medallion, he said it was to give me 'A life worth living.'"

"Those were your mother's words true enough, aye." Rodian nodded. "Williamson did well to pass her legacy to you before he retired and took to the road." He motioned at Marik. "I don't suppose you ever figured out what it was for?"

Marik's hand fingered at his neck, and the medallion hidden under cloak, robes, mythril chain shirt and undershirt. He shook his head gravely, and rumbling as he did, finally spoke for himself.

_"I never did."_ He rasped. _"But there is magic in it."_

"A magic that you, nor any of our most practiced mages and scholars in the Traveler's employ have ever been able to determine." Rodian chuckled. "Maybe you will solve that mystery on your journey, my boy." He clapped his hands together. "So. Are you all packed then?"

"Nearly." Morris grumbled, dropping his placid state and folding his arms, speaking for himself again. "Marik thought he'd get in one last chase before we finished it."

Rodian harrumphed. "Now, you're sure about this, Marik? You don't have to go if you don't…"

The towering Sorceror shook his head. _"I _want_ to go." _He interrupted. _"All my life I've heard the bards and priests of Weyveliste tell me of the outside world. I've heard the stories, the music, studied maps. It is the Traveler's way. We all take to the road. I want to do more than coop myself up in this old temple, father."_

Rodian bit his lip and looked down. "I know you do, son. It's just…"

_"You don't have to worry, father. You can trust me."_

"I trust you." Desmond Rodian said quietly, looking up at his boy again. "It's the world I don't trust." He motioned to his window. "Out there, you won't be Marik, the foster child of Headmaster Rodian. You'll just be a wandering Sorceror, and the minute that they get a good look at you…"

To this, Marik's dull black eyes took on a sharp glint. _"They won't."_ He said solemnly, pulling his hood back up. Once again behind the enchanted black fabric, he became a towering giant in a thick black cloak; faceless and menacing, and all too unknown.

Rodian exhaled. "Just take care of yourself, Marik. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

Morris bleated out a defiant laugh. "Lose him? I've been trying to get rid of him for years!"

Rodian couldn't help but laugh at the joke, and glanced at the imp. "Out there, Morris…You and Marik must rely on each other more than you do now. Keep with him. Protect each other. Please."

Morris blinked a few times, then dropped his jesting manner. "Yeah. Sure." He finally said, muted and tamed. "Hell, I worry about Marik just as much as you do."

The Headmaster looked up at the ceiling. "I think that's it then." He whispered. "I hope you'll keep my gifts well, Marik. They'll help you…no matter where your road leads."

_"I'll find what I'm looking for, father." _Marik said, turning about and heading for the door.

"And just what are you looking for in all of Terrus, my boy?" Headmaster Rodian posed, going back to his seat.

The Sorceror paused at the door, but did not turn around.

_"A life worth living."_ He said at last. Morris nodded in agreement, and the two departed the Headmaster's chambers.

Rodian slipped into his seat and closed his eyes, offering up a prayer to Weyveliste, wherever he was. "Keep them safe." Rodian whispered. "They're in your domain now."

* * *

><p>Marik's room in the temple was quiet and small, save for the oversized bed in one corner. A few books from the mages' library in the basement sat worn and dustless on his desk, having seen plenty of use. Morris hovered in the air, staring down at the piles of material strewn over Marik's bed as the Sorceror bustled about. His usual black cloak and robes were thrown over his desk chair, ignored for the moment as they focused on everything else.<p>

"One enchanted rucksack." Morris commented as Marik threw open the flaps and stared into the magically enhanced void within the main and side compartments. "Hopefully, that should fit most of what we need."

_"Everything."_ Marik said smugly, reaching for the packs of trail rations he and Morris had stolen from the temple pantry. After that came the rest of his gear: His moneypouch, explorer's gear of every conceivable sort, inkwell and writing utensils, scrolls that were either blank or scrawled with a few minor spells he didn't know by instinct, and the poles and canvas of his tent. With the bedroll, the magical compartments finally began to show some sign of growing fullness, and Marik nodded. _"Takes care of that."_

"Yeah. Now you just have to worry about the equipment that doesn't fit in there." Morris teased him.

Marik reached for his mother's medallion, gently lifting the leather string up and around his misshapen head, tucking it safely underneath his shirt once more.

"You know, if we ever needed some money, you could sell that for a few hundred gold coins." Morris propositioned his ally. Following a dark look from the Sorceror, the imp chuckled and waved him off. "No worries, Marik. I was kidding."

Next came the mithril shirt, so finely woven with elven craftsmanship that it glimmered and seemed less like metal and more like holy fabric. It had been his father's in the bard's adventuring days, but Rodian had seen fit to give it to Marik a year ago, the same time as when Morris had been given his first set of clothes. The fine chain slipped over his head and came to rest comfortably, adding no noticeable weight.

Morris fluttered down on a strange mechanical assembly which held a glimmering longsword, segmented into three small parts that when unleashed, would form the full blade. It was silvered along the edges, a personal touch Rodian had paid for as a gift. "You know, I still say this sword of yours is the strangest thing I've ever seen."

Marik reached for it and slipped it over his right arm. The braces let it fall only so far before it fit snugly into place, and he finished strapping it down. Finally, a set of wires and rings went about his right hand's fingers, which he flexed away from him. Only when he clenched all his fingers into a fist and flexed his arm in a very peculiar fashion did the springloaded longsword snap forth with an audible _shiiiiink._ Marik nodded as he felt it lock into place, then twisted his arm in reverse and unflexed his fingers. The sword returned back to its previous position, collapsing back into its three segments.

The idea of an arm-strapped launcher was actually something he'd procured from gnomish schematics, but the design of a sectional longsword was something which had taken Marik, and a few other craftsmen within the Temple, a fair deal of time to complete. _"It will mean a nasty surprise to anyone who believes me to be unarmed." _Marik rasped, nodding at the imp.

It was configured so that with his cloak and robes on, the blade's hilt would end just at above his wrist, the rest extended and ready to slice at whatever got in his way.

Morris landed on a corner of the bed and snickered. "The priests always say to be prepared, but I think you take it a bit too far most days."

Marik next reached for the only other weapon he carried; a finely crafted oak quarterstaff which he dropped into the depths of his haversack. Despite the fact it was five feet long, the enchanted bag didn't offer a moment's complaint, and it disappeared from view.

"Correction." Morris added, lifting a clawed hand that nearly matched Marik's. "Now I _know_ you take it too far."

With his weapons tucked away, Marik reached for the last item on the bed; a rabbit's foot secured to a small bit of chain. He strapped it to his waist, feeling easier as he regained the ability to cast his favorite spell. The cloak and robes came next, and the bag afterwards.

He looked no different than he had twenty minutes before, but Marik felt different. Morris felt it, and agreed with him.

"After all this time…you're finally ready to strike out on your own." The imp murmured, landing on the Sorceror's shoulder. "And I get to go with you for the duration."

_**You're my friend, Morris.**_ Marik replied, using their telepathic connection. _**I couldn't do this without you**__._

"Are we going to stop by your mother's grave on our way out?" Morris questioned, flicking his barbed tail behind him. Marik shook his hooded head at that.

_**I said my farewells this morning. All we can do now is make her proud.**_The Sorceror exhaled and looked around the room one last time. _**Do you suppose we'll ever come back here, Morris?**_

"I couldn't tell you one way or the other, boss." The imp shrugged. "It's not my decision." Morris looked around, moving his upper lip across his fangs. "But this place has been good to us. Maybe some day, we'll come back. To visit." Morris looked up at his friend. "If only for Rodian's…I mean, your father's sake."

Marik nodded at that. _**It's just you and me now, Morris.**_

"We've been training for this day for years, boss." Morris smiled, glancing at the man who had summoned him at the age of fifteen, five years before. "We're going to show the continent of Ashra a thing or two out there! We're going to make a name for ourselves, and we'll show them all!"

_**And maybe…maybe some day people can look on me without fear.**_ Marik mused, a hint of sadness in his mental expression. _**Have we forgotten anything?**_

Morris looked about their room, and finally shook his head. "No. We've left nothing but the floorboards and your old books. And we don't need the floorboards."

Marik waved at the door to his room and it swung open, moved by one of the several little tricks he knew by heart. _**The road is long…**_

"Let us walk together." Morris said, finishing the prayer.

The temple was quiet as they departed; the acolytes and caretakers paused at their chores and prayers, watching the Sorceror and imp as they treaded out. Few eyes looked on them with goodwill and best wishes. Many were indifferent, some were even spiteful or fearful. Marik was used to their stares, though. He kept walking, never breaking his eyes from the gates that led out of the temple and to the world beyond. Only Morris turned around and looked back, glowering at all the hostile faces who watched them go with relief and eager joy.

There was but one set of eyes in all the faces Morris saw who did not address them with scorn or frustration. High up in the temple, standing on a balcony by his massive window, the elderly Headmaster Rodian nodded slowly at them.

"You keep an eye on this place, pops. I've got Marik." Morris said softly. The Sorceror stirred, not sure what his friend had said. The imp chuckled and turned around, looking beyond the slowly opening doors to the road beyond. "Nothing to worry about, Marik. I'm just talking to myself."

The doors closed behind them with a groaning creak and a loud bang. The two looked to their left and to their right along the straight path through the hills. After only a moment's pause, Marik turned south. They would look for adventure and answers alike.

At long last, the world was theirs to explore. Not once did the Sorceror look back.

* * *

><p><em>Central Continent of Ashra, Crannogh Heights, The Eastern Ridge<em>

The small force had been chasing their prey for two weeks now. A cutthroat assassin known as the Grey Shadow had murdered a prominent businessman in the capital of the kingdom of Sorvindal to the northeast. Enraged, the king had put a bounty of three thousand gold dragons on his head, probably due in no small part to the fact that it was his brother in law who had gotten his head sliced clean off of his neck, never to be discovered. A few scattered searches by enterprising folks within Sorvindal had turned up little results; the Grey Shadow was a crafty one, to be sure.

As luck, or unluck as some might claim would have it, only one party had found the Grey Shadow's trail, which led southwards along the main roads. Now they were in the Eastern Ride of Crannogh Heights, and as far as their scout could determine, only a few hours behind their prey.

Riding on horseback, the party of five maneuvered cautiously through the rugged terrain. Their scout led the way, with two archers coming up behind him and a lance-wielding knight guarding the rear.

All of them were temporarily employed under the leader of their troupe, a man of fearful reputation throughout southern Ashra. He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword as they rode along, looking in all directions. Tousled brown hair danced in the breeze. Beyond that and his armor, a shirt of chainmail underneath his outer tunic, he seemed a man without rank or status. Only a light green cloak tied about his shoulders to serve as protection against the cold offered some sign of some prouder tradition.

It belied the fire in his blue eyes.

"We're closing on him, Benson." The scout exclaimed, calling back to the rest of the force. "The tracks are getting fresher."

Ness Benson, their temporary employer, nodded gravely. "Good. Maybe this time we'll be able to stop him before he strikes again, eh?"

The others nodded in agreement, but looked at each other warily. Ness ignored the glances and pressed on. No, he was used to the whisperings and rumors. Ness was a swordsman who had chosen to take his talents to the road as a mercenary. Unluckily for him, by one sad encounter after the next over his years out traveling Ashra, he had gained a reputation.

In every single assignment he had ever taken, the majority of Ness's associates died. The few who lived had spread the word, though not as fast as rumor itself. Ness was a cursed man, and those who valued their lives would do well to avoid him.

The people with him now would have listened to that as well, save for the ludicrous reward. There were yeomen from Sorvindal who would have sold their souls for even a sixth of the profits of the reward. Six hundred coins to a man was too much to pass up.

The scout led them on for a few more minutes, then frowned. "This is…strange." Their caravan halted and Ness rode up beside his ranger.

"What's strange?" The swordsman asked, furrowing his eyebrows. The ranger pointed down, still frowning.

"The Grey Shadow. His trail just ends here." The ranger grumbled, shaking his head. "I don't understand it." He glanced about. "I mean, there's nothing around here but a bunch of high hills."

Ness rubbed at his chin, then glanced off of the side of the road and shook his head. "He wasn't alone, sir."

The scout blinked at that. "What makes you say that?"

"The pile of bones partially hidden." Ness Benson explained, pointing behind a rock on the side of the road, and the grease-covered, glistening bones beyond it. "Deer, more than likely, perhaps goat." Ness dismounted and walked over with his ranger in tow, pointing down to them. "A meal interrupted." Came Ness's answer again, motioning to some half-eaten chops of meat.

The ranger knelt down and tore off a tiny piece of the abandoned meal, tasting it with scrutinizing concentration. "That's deermeat all right." He confirmed. "But these spices are odd. No, this blend isn't human made. It's…"

The ranger's eyes went wide and he climbed to his feet. "…Orc."

Just then, an arrow whistled down from the hills above them and buried itself into the chest of their first archer. The bowman let out a shriek of pain and then fell, his heart pierced from the precise blow. Ness and the others quickly dashed for cover, staring up at their attackers.

Benson realized too late that there was nowhere to run. The hills stood on both sides of the path, and true enough as the ranger had described it, it was orcs who roamed the hills, and not the civilized clan of Bruus, either. They laughed cruelly and stared down at the wandering morsels below. Ness lost sight of the barbaric tusk-mouthed creatures in a moment as he spied a six and some foot tall humanoid figure in a black and gray armored bodysuit. His entire face was hidden by a skeletal metallic faceplate, and the rest of his head was covered by a dark shroud.

Ness' blue eyes met the mask of the assassin they had been chasing. "It's an ambush!" Ness exploded, too late for the realization to do them any good.

The Grey Shadow seemed to laugh for a moment at their predicament, then motioned with a hand. The orcs ran down the hill, screaming and charging like maniacs.

To the credit of the hunters, they fought well. The archer loosed two shots and brought one of them down before they all fell on top of him, ending him. Ness and the ranger doubled back to their knight, who had successfully managed to fend off four warriors all on his own by deft and threatening thrusts from his lance. The ranger unsheathed a pair of shortswords, and Ness drew his longsword free of its sheath with a growl.

"Damn him…He _knew_ we were coming!" The swordsman snapped, watching angrily as the Grey Shadow gave them all one last look before vanishing to the south, leaving the orcs to their work.

The ranger shook his head. "I should have known better than to take this assignment…you're going to get us all killed!"

One of the orcs got in close, and Ness dispatched him with a swing that cut across his chest. The fire in his eyes only got larger. "They haven't killed us yet, woodsman." He looked around and kicked his horse in the sides. "Hyah!" He shouted, urging the mount on. The horse whinnied and took off at a gallop, Ness' surviving comrades followed up behind him, and the surprised snaggle-toothed aggressors in the front stared open-eyed.

Ness bared his teeth and raised his sword high. "Ride on! We must escape the ambush!" The orcs in the front roared and lifted their rusted weapons up, but Ness knocked their feeble strikes aside with mighty blows and rode over one in his haste. The knight and ranger followed, but by the time they reached the edge, the orcs were more prepared. A hail of arrows buried itself into the flank of the knight's horse, and he tumbled to the ground with a shout of dismay. The woodsman turned about in horror and cried out to him, but it did the knight little good. Pinned under his horse, he could do nothing when the overwhelming horde of orcs bore down on him and drove the head of an axe through his armor and into his chest.

Ness bit his cheek at the sight, but whistled to the ranger. "There's nothing we can do for them now, boy! We must ride on or our fate will be theirs!"

The woodsman turned his horse about and galloped after Ness, but the tears in his eyes showed all the grief and anger he might have expressed through combat. "Those were good men, Benson! Those were my friends!"

Ness bit his lip and said nothing back. Somehow, he imagined, nothing he could say would appease the fury his tracker was feeling at that moment. He didn't have the time to settle their differences, though. The orcs claimed one last life that day, and it was the ranger who rode beside him.

Riding on, there came a sharp whistling noise just before a pointed shaft embedded itself through the chest of the woodsman. He let out a panicked gasp of air before his punctured lung fell flat, and slumped against his horse. The two rode on, but it was clear that Ness's last comrade had been dealt a fatal blow.

"Blast it all! No!" Ness screamed, looking over to the woodsman. "Hold on! If we ride on just a few more miles, I can…"

Blood bubbled up from the man's lips as his eyes began to glaze over. "It's…too late." He wheezed, his lifeblood leaving him fast and giving his mount a red coat. "Looks like you…get to live again, Benson."

The shouting orcs fell behind them, but Ness was too blinded by his tears of frustration to notice. "No! You can't…"

"You kill…everyone who works with you." Ness' last ally continued, his breathing short and pained. "You truly are…The Cursed Blade."

The ranger shuddered for a moment, and then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Ness could do little as the man's horse slowed, then stopped. His body slumped from the saddle and fell to the ground. Ness clenched his eyes tightly shut and kicked his horse on, burning into the distance. He lifted his head up and let loose with a scream so loud it echoed in the hills behind him.

Ness Benson; the Cursed Blade, as he was called. The unluckiest swordsman ever to trek Ashra, some would say. Once again, he'd escaped death.

He rode on, for it was all he could do. And in his burning blue eyes, Ness knew that somewhere, the Grey Shadow had heard his scream of anguish and vengeance.

He was probably laughing, too.

* * *

><p><em>The Temple of Calyssa<em>

_Outside the grand city of Knighthold, the Wild Shores_

_The Realm_

The Temple of Calyssa was usually a quiet place, serene in its halls of beautiful tapestries and artwork, glazed over with the faint incense that permeated the entire shrine to the goddess of beauty. The citizens of the grand city a day's walk distant would come for prayers or charms to aid them in their romantic pursuits, and the temple had long been a part of the community, albeit one not ever really mentioned publicly.

But today was no ordinary day, and the usually quiet, serene Calyssans bustled about in activity. It was a special occasion for the burgeoning clergy within; They had been invited to send missionaries to a distant world, so long severed from the cosmos that only five hundred years before had it become known to the more observant and knowledgeable individuals of the planes. It was a relatively quiet world, with a past that few knew. In fact, outside of the knowledge that its inhabitants did not worship any of the guardians of The Realm, only one thing was known about it.

It was a place called Terrus.

The head instructor of the temple bustled about, her blue silken garments and fiery red hair waving about as she darted through the crowds packing their bags and talking excitedly. "Please, my students, please! A little more decorum!" Her voice did little to silence the excited youths, the men and women who had only recently been confirmed as true servants of Calyssa's code. She sighed in exasperation as another person bumped past her and put a hand to her head. "May the Rosequeen give me patience."

Beyond the main hall, one of the younger servants of Calyssa was in her room, the door closed to keep away the sounds of the bustle beyond. Her own supplies and clothes were laid across her bed, prepared for the journey ahead of them. At the moment, though, she was more focused on the letter she was writing at her desk by candlelight.

A knock at the door broke her concentration, and the girl lifted her head up and away from the parchment to the interruption. "Yes?" She called out politely.

A male voice beyond the door chuckled. "Are you decent?"

The brown-haired girl rolled her eyes. "Of course, Parwyn."

"Can I come in then?"

"You've already made a nuisance of yourself, you may as well bother me a little bit more." The girl sighed.

Her door opened, and a gaunt young man about the age of seventeen walked in, smiling from ear to ear. "It is an exciting day, isn't it? Are you packed and ready to go then, Rachel?"

The young woman motioned to her supplies arranged on the bed. "Naturally. And what about you, Par?"

"I've been packed since yesterday." He said, no lack of gusto on his part. Taking a second glance about, he motioned to the parchment on her desk. "What's that, Rachel?"

"I thought I would write a letter to my family…Give them some notice of where I'm going." The auburn-haired Calyssan said, offering a half-smile. "My father always did worry about me."

"Well, that certainly is thoughtful of you." Parwyn answered her, folding his arms with a beaming smile. "Is it finished then, Miss Ashbury?"

Rachel Skyler Ashbury, the sixteen year old servant of Calyssa Rosequeen took another glance down at her work. "Close." She said appraisingly. "It would be done if I didn't suffer so many interruptions."

Parwyn got a gleam in his eye as he looked over to her bed. "You know, if we hurried, I think we might be able to get in one last…"

"Par!" Rachel admonished him, having the good grace to blush a little while glowering at him. The young man laughed and ran a hand through his tousled blond hair.

"It's just a suggestion, is all."

"I've already got everything organized for the trip." She said, still shaking her head. "And besides, you and I parted company ten months ago. I've no desire to rekindle that hearth."

"Much is the sorrow in that." He said quietly, shrugging his shoulders. "But I suppose that your favor's turned elsewhere. Are you excited about the trip?"

"I'm…anxious." Rachel admitted, shaking her head. "I really don't fit in well here. Perhaps going to this new world of Terrus will provide me with the environment I need."

"Well, it's not going to be easy." Parwyn agreed, leaning against the doorway. "You know, I heard that we're the first foreign missionaries to be allowed on this world?"

"Really?" Rachel responded, lifting an eyebrow. "How unusual. Haven't they known about it for five hundred years now?"

"Well, some people have, but it's not an easy place to get to." Parwyn said. "As a matter of fact, they had to send for a Druneweaver powerful enough to cast the magic needed to get to Terrus."

"Curious." Rachel mused, turning back to her letter and beginning to write again in flowing script. "How are the others? Are they worried?"

"Oh, some are." Parwyn nodded. "Bethany Anne and Lilah in particular are frightened stiff. But that's just because they aren't adventurous spirits. Not like you or me."

"You or I." Rachel corrected him, not bothering to look up from her work. "So I take it you're ten sorts of excited, Par?"

"Naturally!" Parwyn laughed. "All I have done has been for this one journey, this one day in time! Just think of it, Rachel! We will be spreading the beauty and message of Calyssa to a people who have never felt her glowing smile before!"

To that, Rachel couldn't help but grin to herself. One of the curious things about her was that she wasn't like the others. They needed to stare at books, memorize long and often cryptic prayers to tap into the might of the Rosequeen's divinely given strength. Rachel did not use books…rather, she just felt it. Parwyn talked of giving people Calyssa's glowing smile, but Rachel felt it every day just by living.

"So when are we leaving?"

"In an hour's passing." Parwyn responded. "The Headmarm is quite frustrated at the moment; she never could deal well with the giggling the rest of our women Calyssans put out when they bring themselves together."

"That will be adequate." Rachel said, nodding her head. Her quill pen continued to scratch away at the paper for a few more moments before she looked up, not at all surprised to find the blond-haired knave Parwyn still looking down at her with that smile of his. "Ehh…Par, is there anything else?"

"No, not that I can think of."

"Well then, could you…" Rachel began, glancing towards the door, "…Let me finish my letter in peace?"

Her former companion lifted his eyebrows. "Oh!" He exclaimed, catching on. "Well then, if you'll excuse me, Rachel…I'd best go make sure that Thomas and the other men are ready for the journey."

Rachel blinked her blue eyes and nodded at him thankfully, going back to her letter as he closed the door behind him.

"He truly is something else." She said quietly, shaking her head back and forth. And she didn't miss having him as a lover for a moment.

She went back to her letter. For all she knew, it could be the last correspondence her family ever got from her for a few years.

Maybe forever. There was a brief pang of remorse in her heart at that, but she stilled it and shook her head.

No, she felt Calyssa's call better than most others here in the temple. And she knew, clear as day, her place was not here by Knighthold, trapped in quiet, unsatisfying service for the rest of her days.

_Think well of me, and keep me in your prayers. No matter how far away this Terrus is, I shall always be close if you hold to that. Give my best wishes to my little sister Casie…She always did the same for me. If I can, I will return to you, and have many stories to tell._

_ I will look forward to that day._

_ -Your daughter,_

_ Rachel_

It was a good conclusion to a long letter. Smiling as she glanced over it one last time, she folded it up and poured the wax from her candle over the flap, sealing it shut with the stamper kept on the desk. When the red wax had hardened, she turned it over and wrote in her family's address.

"Protect them." Rachel whispered, offering up that quick prayer to the Rosequeen. She kissed the letter and went over to pick up her things. She would make sure the letter got delivered before she left. There was little else left to do now, except go and wait with the others.

And maybe then, when they'd crossed the planar boundaries and ventured onto the world of Terrus…

Rachel could finally start living.

* * *

><p><em>Korleen, Central Continent of Ashra<em>

_Terrus_

The band of green goblin raiders had presumed them an easy target; of course, that had been before the tall figure hidden in his black cloak and hood had lifted an arm up and fired off two magical bolts, ending the life of their leader in one smooth motion.

The others had fallen soon afterwards, either paralyzed and left helpless by the fluttering leathery winged creature's sting accompanying the man, or knocked out cold by a few solid blows to the head from a green six-fingered hand that had appeared out of nowhere.

One of the goblins trembled on the ground, the paralyzing venom of the tiny imp's sting beginning to wear off. He didn't dare move while the same creature rested on his chest, the barbed tail of Morris Redtail gently waving back and forth above his vulnerable throat. "Thought you could score out an easy target, eh? Maybe mug and kill some unlucky passerby, make off with their money and valuables? Morris cracked a toothy grin at the beast. "Well, you messed with the wrong pair today, pal."

Marik stood over the lot of the subdued greens with a passive stance, his glowing mage hand sifting through the meager valuables that the raiding party had had on them.

_**About thirty silver pieces. A few gold dragons, too. **_

Morris glanced over to him. "Is that all they were carrying?" He tsked. "Shame. Not even a stinking shiny rock? Goblins are supposed to love shiny rocks!"

Marik used his Sorceror's hand to pocket the money. _**I'm afraid not, Morris. But it was still a profitable encounter. **_

Morris fluttered off of the goblin, glaring down at him. "I say we kill 'em all and be done with it. Goblins are nothing but trouble."

_**Without their leader, they're harmless**__._ Marik responded over their telepathic link. He motioned briefly to the singular corpse in their midst. _**It will take them forever to decide a new pack leader…and they'll kill one or two more of themselves in the process. They don't need us to help them with that.**_

Morris pointed a finger down at the creature he'd been resting on, not taking his eyes from the thing's beady eyes as he landed back on Marik's shoulder. "You're getting off lucky, you sorry beast. Next time, think twice before coming after travelers!" He managed a brief raspberry before Marik set off along the southern road, moving at a clipped, but casual pace.

_**It's not a bad start to our journey, is it my little friend?**_

"Aah, what do I know?" Morris grumbled. "You earned a few coins and we helped to keep the road safe. Isn't that in line with your faith?"

_**Keeping the road safe is a lauded thing in the Traveler's path, yes.**_Marik nodded, his hood bobbing up and down. _**But we shouldn't dwell on it. It's getting late, and we need to find a place to rest for the evening. Preferably somewhere where raiders won't come with a knife at our throats in the middle of the night.**_

They crested a hill, and the imp could make out an inn at the roadside in the distance, its chimney letting out wafts of pale pink smoke in the dwindling sunlight. "Hey heeeeey! That place has possibilities!"

Marik gave it a scrutinizing look. _**Convenient…But I was hoping to save some money.**_

"Oh, come on Marik!" Morris Redtail goaded him, his tail swishing back and forth across the Sorceror's shoulder. "Live a little. It's our first night out! Let's celebrate in style!"

Marik managed a long sigh before he nodded his head in acquiescence. _**All right, Morris. We'll spoil ourselves tonight. But after that…**_

"I know, I know." Morris said, interrupting the comment. "We can't live like kings forever."

_**We'll have to use that little trick you and I practiced. **_

Morris looked up at him, surprised. "Already? Are you sure I couldn't just…"

_**If I terrify men, you frighten them. In the hood, Morris. **_

The imp let out a petulant and feeble groan, but climbed inside of Marik's hood, brushing a wing against his friend's cheek. "I tell you, it feels weird being in here. It's weird to be your voice in general, but this is something else."

_**The only difference with this is that they think that I'm talking for myself. And you know why, Morris. The same as I do.**_

"It's just you and me, I know." Morris agreed, the inn coming up closer on them. "Everyone else can't be trusted."

Marik nodded gravely at that. It was a truth he'd long ago come to accept, and a truth he and his familiar would have to keep in mind as they explored the world.

The world was a dangerous place, especially to the likes of them. It was better to trust no one than risk trusting somebody and being killed for it. Marik brooded over that thought as they approached the inn's door.

Morris wondered if they had stewed rabbit.

* * *

><p><em>The Island of Nessene, Southwest of the Central Continent of Ashra<em>

_Terrus_

Nessene had an almost tropical climate to it in spite of its latitude, but there was a reason for that. Long ago, it had been home to a powerful nymph Sorceress who had permanently reshaped the weather to her liking, and because of that, the island was named for her. Now in the New Era, Nessene Isle served as the home of the portal between Terrus and all the other worlds and planes.

The portal itself was a majestic triangular gateway made of obsidian, granite, and various metals which helped to better channel the energies necessary to keep the interplanar rift open. People walking by would be quick to notice the guards and mages about the entrance circle, who were kept there to make sure that nothing ever went amiss. Today, they were especially numerous. A group of new arrivals was coming, sanctioned by the Nessene Elders. They wanted nothing to go wrong with the transit.

From the triangular doorway of the planes, a party of fifteen individuals, all garbed in silks and satins of every bright color, yet predominantly red, emerged through the glimmering white light. Disoriented for but a moment, they took stock of their surroundings.

A robed man, one of the mages in Nessene's guard, stepped forward to an older woman and presumably the leader of the assembly in the front of the pack. Calmly he pulled out a pen and notebook. "Names, and the purpose of your visit?"

The middle aged woman was still beautiful enough to make young men stare, and her bright red hair made her all the more exotic. She flicked it back and set a hand to her waist, drinking in the attention. "We are the servants of Calyssa Rosequeen, the goddess of beauty. We hail from The Realm, come to this distant world to spread her passionate message to the masses."

The man chortled as he finished writing in the ledger. "I see. Well, welcome to Terrus milady. I don't know how effective your…missionary work will be, but for what it's worth, good luck." The gatekeeper bowed one last time and departed.

Parwyn wrinkled his nose as he looked around. "It's rather plain here." He muttered dourly. Apparently a tropical climate and lush greenery surrounding the remarkable edifice of transport was not impressive.

Their leader, the headmarm laughed at that. "Oh, that can change. Come along, everyone!" The assembled missionaries began to shuffle off, but one young woman with long brown hair hesitated, looking around in wonder.

"Rachel! Rachel Ashbury!" The headmarm called back to her. The girl, as beautiful on Terrus as she had been back at the convent outside of Knighthold, let out a squeak of surprise and glanced forwards, stopping her daydreaming. "We're leaving, Rachel. Stop dawdling and come along!"

"I'm coming." Rachel sighed in exasperation. She hefted her traveling bag over her shoulder and trotted after the rest of her peers.

Unlike Parwyn, Rachel decided as she glanced about, this world had much beauty to behold. It was hard to see, true, but real beauty usually was.

"It's not Knighthold, true." Rachel said to herself, brushing her long brown hair back. She didn't finish the sentence, choosing to keep that in her mind.

_But there is much about this world that Calyssa would love._

* * *

><p><em>Somewhere in the eastern Crannogh Heights<em>

The shepherd had been minding his own business, tending the flock of woolies calmly grazing on the grassy tundra of Crannogh's hills. That had been his first mistake, to be at that one particular region. The assassin had fallen upon him and ended his life in a moment, severing his head clean off with a quick slicing blow from one of his serrated silver-edged shortswords, stowed back away as quick as it had come. The sheep had bleated a few times, but didn't panic, too obsessed with feeding their stomachs.

They called him the Grey Shadow. It was a grim name, he mused as he gnawed away at his prize. The precious life-giving fluids within the shepherd's head were a sweet nectar to his perverted taste. It also served to hide his kills from those gifted with magesight. Perhaps he truly was a shadow in their eyes…he of course knew better.

But far be it from him to try and end any dreaded mythology surrounding him. In the same moment he was pleased with himself, he was concerned as well. He had targeted that precocious nobleman in Sorvindal as his most recent mark. The job had gained him the promise of a thousand gold from a distant mage and a great deal of notoriety, perhaps more than he would have liked. The bounty on his head, as he understood it, was now three times what he had been offered as payment.

He finished his snack with a loud slurping sound, holding the now empty cask of the shepherd's bushy-haired head up with one hand. Pity. He'd had better, of course…but he couldn't always be choosy. Not while he was being pursued by that stubborn warrior. Nash? Niles? It was something like that, but the Grey Shadow could have cared less. Far more memorable was that fool's nickname, 'The Cursed Blade'. The assassin doubted he'd done that man any favors by paying off the local orc dissidents to ambush him and his team of adventurers. He didn't know how many of the swordsman's party had survived, but he knew the man himself had.

He'd heard the scream.

The sun was setting, and soon it would be night. The Grey Shadow was looking forward to that; like all others of his profession, and his ilk, he worked and moved best in the darkness. It made him stronger.

He took a moment to resecure his mask, once again covering his face behind the wall that hid his true self from the world. As for the empty head in his hand, he would discard it a few miles from here, in a hidden location where it wouldn't be found by anyone connected to the case. A skilled enough constable or kingdom guard might identify the headless corpse of the shepherd as the work of the infamous Grey Shadow, the assassin that came in the night through closed windows turned mysteriously open and left without the barest trace of his gruesome work, save the headless body. But that would be tomorrow, or the next day, whenever someone got worried enough about this unlucky shepherd to send out a search party.

By then, the Grey Shadow would be miles away, on a sloping westward track to the opposite side of Ashra. Once he reached Istus, he would simply vanish into thin air.

That poor cursed swordsman would be none the wiser. The sheep looked up at the curious noise the assassin made as he walked in the opposite direction of the approaching darkness, to the last vestiges of the sunset. Ness had been right, though he was miles away and off of the assassin's trail.

The Grey Shadow was laughing at him.


	3. Two: The Cursed Swordsman

**Two: The Cursed Swordsman**

_Crannogh Heights, Southern Ashra_

_The trade city of Westshire_

The Calyssan missionaries had been in Westshire for about five days now, after going three days by a fast sailing vessel across the waves between Nessene and the main continent of Ashra. It had taken another day to get out of the port city of Tendocks and follow the main road, led by the headmistress, who claimed to be guided by the Rosequeen's visions. Whether real or imagined, the headmistress had brought them to Westshire, to settle down and to begin building a small church for their needs on the outskirts of the city. The headmarm was sure that the Rosequeen had led them here because they would have the easiest time settling in and spreading her message.

Rachel was finding out, after endless days of frustration, that that was clearly not the case at work here. The merchants had become familiar with the appearance of the newcomers, and Rachel, wearing her enchanted red scarf was just as easy of a mark as the more traditional Solarian clerics in training who wore their satin and silk vestments.

The current merchant folded his hairy arms, all the look of a gruff blacksmith about him. "The price is one silver piece."

"For a half a dozen eggs?" Rachel repeated, still stupefied. "Come on. A room at the inn down the street costs as much!"

"Yeh, but the chickens don't know that." The merchant retorted. "So are ye going to buy or not?"

Rachel pressed a hand to her forehead, fighting off the urge to berate the lumbering oaf with a tirade of words that would have easily made her mother blush. There were some things at the convent taught that weren't related to the Rosequeen's teachings, after all.

A reassuring hand came down on her shoulder, and Rachel glanced up to find a smiling blond-haired man in a broad-rimmed feathered cap looking down at her. Her surprised blue eyes caught on his emerald ones, and for half a breath she mistook him as Parwyn…though Parwyn never wore such outlandish hats. "Oh, come now, Davis." The man chastised the merchant. "The poor girl's just looking to get some breakfast for herself and the others back at the church."

The merchant named Davis managed a scowl at the newcomer. "Back off, minstrel. This is none o' yer concern."

The blond-haired man's eyes flickered at that as he turned to fully address the seller. "Oh? It isn't? Well then, I suppose that I'll just buy some eggs myself and be on my way then." He dug about in his pocket and put down four copper coins. "There we go. That's the price for half a dozen eggs, as I remember." The merchant's eyes widened at that, but the charismatic young man swung a dextrous hand across the counter and scooped up a tray of six eggs before the salesman could argue. "Now then. Don't let me disturb your other sale." He gave Rachel a look, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. "My apologies…weren't you here to buy eggs this morning as well?"

Rachel nodded slowly at that. "Why…yes, I was."

The blond-haired savior grinned from ear to ear. "Well Davis, don't just stand there. Take the girl's four coppers and be done with the deal."

"I swear, I'll find you out on the streets some day alone and then…" The merchant warned angrily, his face reddening. The blond haired man's smile dropped in a moment, replaced with a condescending stillness.

"You'll do what? Thrash me soundly?" The blond-haired man stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Come on, Davis. That's beneath even a scoundrel as low as you. Besides, you're always more concerned with running that business of yours. And I wonder how well business would go if everyone here in Westshire knew how you'd treated one of its sterling citizens?"

It was clear to Rachel that the veiled threat had hit home. Deflated, the merchant dropped his head, still red and furious, but beaten. "Four copper." He grumbled, holding out his meaty paw of a hand. Rachel beamed as she deposited the amount, far less than half of his original asking price. Nodding curtly to the merchant, Rachel took the tray of eggs and looked about for her rescuer to thank him; strangely, the man had disappeared from her sight. "Curious." She mumbled, walking back to the northern edge of town.

A few blocks later, he conjured beside her, weaving out of the bustle. Still smiling, he held over his own tray of eggs. "I don't suppose your convent would be needing a full dozen today?"

Rachel giggled a little bit, flattered as she accepted the gift. "Just who are you, anyhow?" She inquired, still unable to shake how much he resembled Parwyn. "I'd like to know who to thank when I'm offering prayers tonight."

The blond-haired man made a flourishing bow in front of her. "Orville Gracefoot at your service, milady. And might I know the name of the dazzling beauty before me?"

Rachel managed a curtsy. "Rachel Ashbury, sir Gracefoot."

"Just call me Orville." The man said with a wink. "I'm no knight." He motioned behind her. "As for that merchant, you may want to avoid him in the future. That's Jonn Davis, a real screw if ever there was one. There are merchants in this town far less discriminating to travelers and newcomers."

Rachel sighed and kept walking, her new suitor trailing behind her. "Have you lived here long, then?"

"Westshire is my home, true." Orville admitted, tucking his hands into the pockets of his roadworn trousers. "But this is my first time back in town in about a month."

Rachel blinked at him curiously. "But…then how did you know about the convent?"

Though Orville looked like Parwyn, the way he laughed made it clear he had the young man beat by two or three years in age. "My apologies. You heard that shopkeeper Davis call me a minstrel? Well, that's one of the subtitles I go by at times." He hummed a small tune and snapped his fingers, and a mandolin appeared in his free hand. By magic or sleight of hand, she could not tell, though. "Truthfully, I'm a bard." He concluded, as if that answered everything.

Rachel slowly nodded her head. She had never heard of that profession, and presumed by the instrument that he was some sort of an entertainer. That likely explained his worldly attitude; entertainers in The Realm, as it hopefully was here, traveled a great deal. "So you heard about us then?"

"Oh my, yes." He nodded vigorously, strumming a few notes as they walked along. "The arrival of religious missionaries from beyond our small little world of Terrus is great news indeed."

"I found that curious myself. That we were the first ones ever, I mean." Rachel agreed after a time. "Why has nobody else ever come?"

The bard shrugged at that, playing a series of chords that resolved in a triumphant note. "Well, I could speculate, but speculation's a useless thing. Just what does your faith praise anyhow?"

Rachel blinked a few times. "Beauty, great works of art, love, and passion are the main things." Orville's eyes brightened at that.

"Oho! Passion? Love? Praytell, is there a streak of hedonism in your sect?"

Rachel blushed. "Well…" She shook her head. "You might say that the Rosequeen's servants are more…uninhibited than most."

The minstrel chuckled a bit. "Keep it up, and you might get me to convert. I can honestly say that there is no deity on our world worshipped who upholds such ideals. Perhaps that is why they invited you. This Rosequeen doesn't encroach on any of the principles held by our own."

Rachel shrugged. "Why we're here isn't all that important to me. No, I was just glad to get away from that stuffy temple back home…" She stopped herself, then shook her head. "You must forgive me, Mr. Gracefoot. I fear I've said too much."

Orville thought on that for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "You didn't misspeak. No, I think I understand you. You want to get out, to see and explore and travel, is that it?"

The thought had crossed Rachel's mind. More than once, actually, and with fluctuating intensity. It was worst when she found herself at odds with her peers, most often because of how she differed from them. They had to pray to tap into Calyssa's power. Rachel simply felt it all the time, and while she kept quiet about it, it was occasionally brought up. That difference did more to instill animosity between her and the other girls than anything else.

"Did I strike too close to the mark?" The bard prodded, scratching at his blond hair. "You must forgive me if I did."

Rachel shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "No, it's…Well, you did, yes. But I don't think it's wrong."

"Of course not." He soothed her. "Wanderlust is more common than you'd think here in our world. Both in our history and in the present. Even I'm not immune to it. But I take it the others in your convent don't approve?"

Rachel thought over that for a while. "This trip of ours was something unique. We're not exactly the traveling sort, no."

"And what about you?" Orville pressed. "Are you the traveling sort?"

Rachel pursed her lips at that. Orville leaned in a little closer as they kept walking. "You know, Rachel…If you'd like, I'm leaving town in an hour. I could take you with me."

To this, the girl finally laughed. "Are you serious? You don't know how useful I'd be out in your travels."

"Useful or not, you'd be welcome company." He smiled back. "After all, it does get lonely out there sometimes, and I'd be lying to say that I wasn't attracted to you for more than just your ability to make conversation."

All in all, it wasn't all that terrible of a proposition, she thought. A chance to leave it behind. A fellow who seemed, on the surface at least, a decent and amiable man, and who wasn't half-bad looking to boot. An opportunity to explore this new world, to strike out on her own.

But then she thought of her commitments. To the others, to the church, to Calyssa. Her vows kept her tied to them. She felt her goddess, now as always, in every breath she took.

Saddened, she looked up to the bard and shook her head. "If things were different, my good minstrel. But my place is yet with the others."

Orville seemed crestfallen. "I feared you would say as much. But I would not ask you to break your oaths and vows." He smiled and distanced himself from her a ways. "But if you ever do get the chance to leave this place behind, look for me out when you travel Ashra. I'll sing a love ballad in your name, and shout it to the heavens. And if you ever wish a vehicle to serve your journey, look for a guildhall here in Westshire which puts up job offers of every sort and variety. More than one involves travel…and at least one will always take you to where you want to go."

He gave her one last flamboyant bow and let his mandolin vanish from sight again. "Things may seem difficult now, but you did pick a wonderful location to set up your temple. Westshire is a hub of the roads about southern Ashra. Trade and commerce flourish here, as do visitors. And remember that not everybody here is like that old grouch Davis. Give your fellow priestesses my best wishes, milady Ashbury!" He let out one last triumphant laugh and walked back towards the center of the city, slipping into the milieu of the crowd and vanishing from sight.

Rachel would have put a hand to her heart to feel it pounding from the question the bard Orville Gracefoot left her with, had she not had to carry so many eggs back to the rest safely.

_If I could…Would I leave the others? Would I strike out to see this world on my own?_

A part of her wanted to so desperately. Once again though, as she approached the walls of the old abandoned stonework church they had temporarily adopted while a proper temple was built, Rachel felt the weight of her duties, of her obligations, and of her vows to Calyssa Rosequeen and to the others.

But those were a cleric's vows, a part of her scowled. And Rachel was no true cleric.

Divided by the argument, Rachel slipped back into routine, resigning herself to the rest of the missionaries, and to their work here in Westshire. The world would have to wait. The eggs had to be delivered.

* * *

><p>Resting a decent clip off of the main road, and with both his own and Morris's eyes having taken a look about for all things good, evil, invisible, or magical, the Sorceror had opted for a rare moment to enjoy the outdoors with his hood removed. The reason for the precaution and paranoia was evident to both himself and to his friend, as his discolored flesh bathed in the light coming through the leaves of the tree he rested against.<p>

Morris still kept staring about, one of his almost comical ears left open for any noise that might signal an approaching stranger. Marik himself counted through their remaining funds, his dextrous but inhuman hands with their sharp pointed nails dabbling through the copper, silver, and gold.

"So how bad off are we?" The imp asked querulously, his barbed tail flicking back and forth as he hovered in midair.

Marik made a gesture akin to a frown and shook his head. _**Even trying to live on necessities, we're down to about twenty-five gold dragons, a few silver pieces, and a handful of coppers.**_

Morris sighed. "I don't suppose there's any chance there's a highwayman's respite around here we could raid?" Marik almost chuckled at the notion, but stopped himself. It didn't stop Morris from feeling the brief flash of humor, all too sensitive to Marik's mood through their telepathic connection.

_**I'll admit we had a lucky break with that band of raiders, but that was a fluke. No, any more we've just been attacked by wild animals wandering the countryside, and they don't bother to carry the coinpurses of the people they kill.**_

Morris folded his tiny arms. "Well, we can't rightly go broke. That's our life savings, right?"

_**I'm afraid so. We took everything I'd saved up when we left home.**_

"Then we're just going to have to figure out some way to earn more." Morris Redtail said stubbornly with a shake of his head. "But where do we start? I'm a little clueless myself."

Marik thought for a while, delving back on his memories. He recalled all the lore he'd absorbed, all the random tidbits of knowledge which had filtered in from the traveling bards and priests who passed by the Roadside Temple in Korleen, seemingly a lifetime behind them now. A few moments of thought later, he dug around in his magical haversack and pulled out a map of the continent of Ashra. He unfolded the parchment and looked up to Morris. _**We're in Crannogh Heights, correct?**_

"That's what you've told me, yes." Morris responded dryly. "Why?"

Marik's clawed finger scratched a course from their estimated position to a dot with a name. _**We're about a day off from the city of Westshire; From what I've heard, it's a hub of activity for traders, travelers, and adventurers. **_

Morris lifted an eyebrow. "Wasn't there a song that Rodian used to sing about that town?"

Marik did actually chuckle at that comment. _**I think it went something along the lines of, "Ye think, sir dragon, ye know fire? Come face the grog at old Westshire!" **_

Morris guffawed and slapped his knee, his palm rubbing against the fabric of his minute trousers. "That was the one!" He rubbed a tear out of his eye and cleared his throat. "So, Westshire. What's there that'll help us with our money problem?"

_**Work.**_Marik said grimly. _**Something else I learned from the bards that always passed through our home; Westshire keeps a unique place known as an 'adventurer's lodge.' Apparently, passing inhabitants will post opportunities and calls to arms for intrepid do-gooders. Then adventurers and travelers…like ourselves…looking for a little money and some thrills come by and apply for it with the person who ordered the mission. It's apparently a very successful system. The only one of its kind in all Ashra, which says something about Westshire itself.**_

Morris had a frown on his face by the end of Marik's explanation. "Hold on one cracker-blasted moment." He said gravely. "Do you mean to tell me that after all our discussion, after all the times we've both gone through that speech about "we can only trust each other", you're seriously considering signing up for one of these…_gatherings?_"

Marik pursed his lips. _**Morris, I know it goes against our past agreements. But from where I stand, it's the best option. I'm still not skilled enough to write scrolls and sell them yet, and it's not like we can go performing magic tricks at a street corner. Besides, adventuring crews have been around for thousands of years. The good ones become legendary, like the Great King Samael…**_

"And the lousy ones end up dead and forgotten." Morris warned his associate, tempering the Sorceror's enthusiasm. "Given our condition, which is more likely?"

Marik gave the imp a plaintive stare. _**Well, then. If that option doesn't appeal to you, just how do you suggest we make a few hundred gold?**_

Morris pursed his lips. "Hey, I'm your second conscience, not your financial advisor."

_**No, but you are responsible for helping me to spend my money.**_ Marik reminded his friend. _**So no ideas?**_

Morris' tail swished back and forth in the air angrily, then he leveled a stern gaze at his friend. "Can you make a mental note that I'm walking into this deal with _severe_ reservations?"

_**Naturally. And if this doesn't work out, I imagine you'll hold it over my head until I'm dead and you're old and wrinkled.**_

"Damn right I will." Morris heckled him, flying down onto his shoulder. "Well, if that's the best option from where you're standing…"

_**Danger is something we face no matter what. At least this way, we face danger quicker, and there's a more immediate reward.**_

"…Then we might as well get going. Westshire isn't going to walk to us, after all." Morris concluded with a tired resignation. "And maybe if we're lucky, we'll find a bunch of thieves needing to have their teeth smashed in and their stolen money taken back from them."

Marik pulled himself to his feet and chuckled again, tugging his hood back up and over his head. Enshrouded in the darkness of his thick black cloak, Marik Observant let his hands slip back into their long sleeves and headed back towards the main path.

_**Always looking on the bright side of things, aren't you Morris?**_

"One of us has to." The imp chirruped brightly. "It rains too much in your world."

* * *

><p>She was home again; back at the pub and inn run by her father in Knighthold known as <em>The Last Round.<em> There was a stew bubbling over the fireplace, tended by one of the barmaids. The smiling patriarch of the Ashbury family was behind the counter, drying his glass tankards with a well-worn dishcloth. A few patrons were nursing their beers and ales in the midday lunch, calmly downing the hearty stew with small spoonfuls, being careful not to burn their mouths. Rachel smiled to herself; her father always did keep the stews piping hot.

Up the stairs, beyond the eight bedrooms that the inn had for weary travelers was the third floor; the portion of the inn that the Ashbury family lived in. Up the pulldown stairs, in what was often mistaken as the attic, was the living room and bedrooms that Rachel had called home for the first ten years of her life.

Her mother was sitting in the old rocking chair in the central living room, humming a tune to herself as she sewed. Rachel's little sister, Cassandra, sat sprawled across one of the couches, her eyes scrutinizing as she pored over an old book detailing how to use a crystal ball. She was three years younger than Rachel, but she looked as Rachel remembered her, seven years old and all too distant and serious. If Rachel remembered right, she was being trained to be an augur, a diviner and seeker of secrets by the local Druneweaver's guild. They had even paid for the privilege, a boon that had relieved her parents immensely.

But Rachel's wandering eyes went back to her mother, singing softly to herself and bathed in a warm halo of light from the rays of the sun that came down through the large window angled above them. Her light brown hair seemed to turn golden in that moment, shimmering as it gently swayed back and forth from her rocking.

Rachel looked a little closer, surprised. She was working on a tapestry of reds, golds, blues and purples. A large work of art which was destined to be appreciated, and to win a local seamstress' contest at the next harvest festival.

"Momma!" Came a giggling voice, led by a voice that clambered up the stairs with a slender body about three and a half feet tall, swathed in a respectable, but common looking skirt and blouse of blues with gray trim. Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but found that no sound came out.

She was looking at herself…as she had been six years before. Before she had been brought to the temple.

Mrs. Ashbury, a woman that was lovingly called 'Lady Lydia' by the patrons below, set down her needles and looked over to her oldest daughter with a prim smile. "Rachel, what are you so excited about today?"

"I just am." Rachel's younger self beamed, her face still covered in freckles back then. "Whacha working on?"

Mrs. Ashbury lifted the tapestry up slightly. "You know that sewing contest I enter every year?"

"Uh huh…"

"Well, this is what your mother is entering this year."

Little Rachel fingered the garment appreciatively. "S' pretty." She finally said, looking up to her mother, Lydia Ashbury. "Where'd you get the idea?"

Lydia pursed her lips at that, then shrugged. "Well…I suppose I was thinking of you." The woman finally admitted to her daughter. "And then when I saw you, it just sort of popped into my head."

Little Rachel frowned at that, not quite sure what her mother meant. Later, of course, she would learn what had happened.

While it defied all rationale, the Rosequeen goddess had left her mark on little Rachel at her birth. Her mother, not a magician by anybody's reckoning, but partially sensitive, had said giving birth to Rachel was the most beautiful experience she had ever felt. And years later, when Rachel was ten, Lydia Ashbury had been inspired by some unknown muse to create the most stunning tapestry of her life. That tapestry had won the contest at the harvest festival with ease, and in turn, caught the eye of a few priestesses that had traveled in from the temple outside of Knighthold. They had come to the Ashbury's home and inn to congratulate her mother and also to possibly commission some other works. They had found Rachel instead.

They had been able to sense the mark of the divine in her, a strength still untrained that gave her the potential to access Calyssa's strength. They did not know, and would not discover for some time, however, that Rachel was not like them. They only knew what their magic, their spirit, and their eyes could tell them. Rachel was blessed, and she was meant to herald Calyssa's fire.

Rachel finally realized what was happening. Some people talked of dreams so real they were truthfully memories, portents of things yet to come. Few were ever aware of the nature of the dream and its distance from reality until they woke up. But Rachel, like others, realized at that moment she was in a dream. The shock of that should have been enough to wake her up. Yet she remained, a passive witness to the events unfolding before her.

Lydia Ashbury leaned forward and brushed little Rachel's hair back with a hand, smiling down at her. "You're going to do great things some day, Rachel. I just know it."

She chose that moment to look up and stare at Rachel as she was now…the sixteen year old young woman watching the dream with a surprised realization.

_"But you can't reach for your destiny if you let others hold you back."_

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, dumbstruck that the dream memory of her mother could see her, speak to her. No sound came from her mouth. No wind passed by her throat.

And for a moment, it seemed as if her mother's hair, her mother's beautiful and lustrous golden brown hair…

Was a flaming red, bouncing about in curls beside her peaceful, loving face. Rachel only had time to blink once before a blinding whiteness overcame her, and she at last had the voice to scream.

* * *

><p>Rachel sprung from her bed with a cold sweat beading across her forehead, her stunned blue eyes open and reeling. Breathing in gasping, frantic gulps, Rachel tried to calm her senses, putting a hand to her chest to make sure her heart wouldn't burst out of it from the tension.<p>

_It was…a dream. Just a dream._ She consoled herself with that, hoping it would break the awe of what she had experienced. But a part of her, the part of her soul and spirit that connected to Calyssa in some unfathomable way that nobody had ever really understood, told her differently.

It had been no dream she had experienced in the dead of her night's rest. It had been a vision, one heavensent.

"Goddess protect me." Rachel breathed, drawing her knees up to her chest and holding them close. In a sense, though, the goddess of love and beauty had done exactly that.

Rachel looked about the room she shared with two other women of the mission. The bare stone walls glanced back at her, more imposing than they had ever been before. She'd just never noticed until then how much of a prison her dwelling was.

Rachel set her chin on her knees, seeing that her disruption hadn't affected the other two in the slightest. They continued to rest peacefully, slumbering away in dreams that were just dreams.

_Are you telling me to leave?_ She asked, voicing it towards her deity, somehow seeming so far away and so very quiet in that moment. _That I don't belong here with the others?_

Rachel pressed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. If she had been home, she might have been able to consult with the High Priestess about her vision. She might even have gained leave to go visit her sister, skilled enough with her divination to tell fortunes and even see major events in people's lives. Cassandra had even predicted Rachel's entry into the Rosequeen's graces, if one believed the story that her father had held stubbornly by ever since she had left.

But she was here, in a new land, on a new world. The Realm, Knighthold, was behind her. None of her past connections could help her now. So she only had two voices left to listen to for guidance. Her own, and Calyssa Rosequeen.

And Calyssa had already said what she had wanted to.

Rachel sat there, looking up to the tiny window that filtered in moonlight above them all, pondering on that. She had made an oath to stand by her sisters and brothers in Calyssa's light when she joined. But that was a cleric's oath. And Rachel Ashbury, as she knew well enough anymore, was more of a mage than a priestess. So did that override the oath? She wanted to go see the world. She had been asked to throw away everything else that gave her comfort and embrace the unknown in her vision.

It was her decision, she knew. It was the hardest decision in her life she had ever had to make. So she thought. She thought until morning, when the dawn's light came through the tiny window above and gave final solution. As the others stirred awake, Rachel had already slipped out of her nightgown and dressed. It hadn't taken her long to pack her bags. As for the clerical vestments, she left those. Her favorite red scarf, enchanted to enhance her beauty and deepen her connection to Calyssa's power, went about her neck. A leather whip, the weapon Calyssa herself was said to use, was coiled and tied at her waist

One of the younger girls, a priestess of about fourteen years of age rubbed at her eyes. "Rachel?" She asked sleepily. "What are you doing?"

To this, the young Ashbury smiled and slung her traveling rucksack over her shoulder. "Exactly what is asked of me." She said. Nodding one last time to the girls she knew she would never see again, Rachel exited the room and took off for the headmarm's quarters.

She would at least say goodbye before leaving.

* * *

><p>The headmarm, Ophelia Winnisele, took the news with more than a taste of skepticism. "So you'll be leaving us and setting out on your own…because a dream told you to?"<p>

Rachel shook her head. "It was no dream, ma'am. It was a vision. I could feel it."

Headmarm Winnisele's fingers drummed restlessly on her desk, feeling too sleepy this early in the morning to be dealing with a crisis of this magnitude. "Rachel, I'll admit that things haven't gone all that well our first few days here, but it will get better. Besides, we are as strong as we are because of our numbers, because we keep together."

Rachel was getting tired of all the empty statements. She'd heard this before, back when she had wanted to go to a different church outside of the Temple in Knighthold. The Head Priestess had said the same thing then as well. "I don't belong with you." Rachel insisted. "Surely you know this. The others pray for their spells. I do not have to. They just come to me. With each other, the other Calyssans find strength in numbers, but all that does to me is stifle what I feel I can do." Rachel leaned in over the desk a distance, her eyes pleading. "You don't have to worry about me, headmistress. I'm not a child anymore. You have done everything you could have to help me. But in my heart, I feel the goddesses' love, and it tells me I have to go. It tells me that my place is out in this world…not confined within the walls of a convent."

The headmarm chewed her lip at that. Rachel knew as well as she did that a vision claimed by a divine servant was not easily ignored or thrown aside. The young woman could sense her elder's mind at work, poring over what she knew.

Rachel felt a lightness in her heart take hold of her, and her lips parted. Words came unbidden, unthought, simply there.

"You too, had a vision once. It led you to Knighthold."

The headmarm started at that, looking up in wonder at her charge. "How did you know…" She began, but stopped cold when her gaze met the cool stare of Rachel.

It was not blue eyes that looked back at her, but green.

The eyes of Calyssa.

Shaken, Headmistress Winnisele blinked a few times. Rachel's eyes were once more blue, though she still stared as intently. "I…" She began, most of the color drained from her face. She finally shook her head. "Forgive me. If you have had a vision from our goddess as you claim…then we cannot stand in the way of it." She stood up from her desk and bowed slightly to Rachel. "We will miss you here, of course."

Rachel smiled. "I'd feel bad if you didn't. I promise you, this will be for the best."

The headmarm exhaled loudly, still shaken by Rachel's eyes. "I hope so." She feebly admitted. She walked around her desk and drew Rachel into a hug. "Take care of yourself, Miss Ashbury. May the Rosequeen guard you well."

"And may she keep love warm in your heart." Rachel answered back, pulling away. One last nod, and then she walked out of the headmarm's chambers.

Walking down the hallway, Rachel's heart felt lighter and more joyous than ever, even more than when she learned of this trip to a new world itself. The only moment of sadness that came into it was when she heard a familiar, still comforting voice reach out towards her.

"So you're finally leaving us. Leaving all of us behind, eh?" Rachel paused and turned to the voice. It was Parwyn, of course. He leaned up in the doorway to the men's quarters with a sad half-smile on his face.

Rachel slowly nodded her head. "It's time for me to move on."

"Were we really that terrible to you?" Parwyn pressed, searching for some answer. "Was I that horrible to you?"

"No, and no." Rachel told him softly. "But something inside me keeps telling me I belong elsewhere. There's so much I can do, Par. But I can't do them here." She lowered her head a little. "I'm not like you. I'm not like the others." She waved an arm around them. "I don't belong in some old and lifeless church, Par. My answers, what Calyssa wants me to accomplish lies out those doors."

He laughed at that. "You always were the biggest dreamer of us all, you know?" Parwyn picked himself up and walked over to her, resting his hands on her shoulder. "Just keep yourself alive and happy out there, whatever it is you hope to accomplish." The older boy bit his lip and smiled at her. "I don't think I could ever forgive myself if something happened to you."

Rachel's blue eyes were clear. "Par…I don't feel that way about you anymore. You shouldn't keep feeling so attached."

The boy laughed at that. "The first girl I ever loved tells me I shouldn't feel so attached. I'll have to remember that one." He slowly pulled his hands back and dropped his smile. "Before you go though, Rachel…Answer me one thing."

"I'll try." She ventured, wondering what he'd ask.

He took in a deep breath and seemed to hold it for forever, exhaling it before speaking. "Why…why exactly, did you fall out of love with me?"

Rachel smiled and put a hand to his chest. "Par, you're a wonderful man. You're caring, you're funny, you're even considerate at times. But you always fawned over me, always worried about me." She slowly nodded her head, letting a year's worth of tension drain out of her all at once. "You can't do that to me, Par. I'm not some paper doll to be kept in a box. At first, I enjoyed it. You made me feel safe. You made me feel that nothing would ever harm me, could ever harm me. But you went beyond that. You were overzealous, nearly paranoid. In time, I grew to resent that. It's the same reason I have to leave now." She pursed her lips. "You can't just keep me inside of these walls forever. Only when I'm out, only when I'm exploring my surroundings, looking for its beauty, am I truly happy. You never understood that, Par. That's why I stopped loving you."

It was the truth, and by the all too stunned look on his face, Rachel realized the old adage was correct. The truth did indeed hurt.

He took a while to let it all sink in, then finally offered a weak smile and nodded slowly. "Tell me why the caged nightingale doesn't sing." He whispered, loud enough for her to hear and catch the reference. He took a few steps back, still nodding. His eyes showed hurt, but a resolution as well, and Rachel was glad to see it. Parwyn would recover. Finally, it seemed. "Then fly, nightingale. Fly, and be free."

It was a flowery farewell, a dismissal that bards and master poets would have memorized and told of for years, had they been there. Most importantly, it was a Calyssan's farewell, holding true to the love and beauty they preached and sought. Rachel gave him one last smile, biting her lower lip. "I won't forget you, Par." She said softly, slipping out into the full glow of the morning.

Parwyn watched her leave the temporary temple, and in the same moment, leave his life.

"And I'll never be able to forget you." He called after her. But of course she didn't hear him. She was blended into the crowd outside and lost from view. Just another person who had left his life as quick as they had come.

Just a memory.

* * *

><p>Normally, Morris Redtail considered himself a fortunate little imp. Shunned by his peers and considered weak for the bulk of his existence, he had been summoned by powerful magics, ripped from the Depths to the world of Terrus and trapped within a summoning circle. There, he'd looked up at the misshapen and disfigured man who would become his closest friend. That had been a good thing, although it might sound odd to a stranger who heard the tale. Morris was unlike other imps from the misnamed Hell for a very specific reason; He wasn't evil. Self-serving at times, yes, but all imps were. No, Morris lacked the stomach and mindset to be truly ruthless. That was why everyone else had called him weak, and why he had so long been ignored. He thought it his fate to be just an errand boy, a poor lackey to be kicked around by some superior devil.<p>

And then he had met Marik. All in all, it had been a wonderful ride so far in their shared life. Morris had gained clothes, a friend, and a newfound sense of respect.

It was only in moments like now, crowded inside of Marik's hood and sharing space with the inhuman maw of his associate that Morris regretted their unusual partnership. "Dadblame it all, boss, it's starting to smell in here! You could have at least used a dweomer to take care of that."

_**I'll be sure to tonight.**_Came the grim reply of the novice Sorceror. _**But keep to your role. You're my voice in this town, don't forget that.**_

Morris was careful not to graze Marik's exposed throat with his barbed tail. "Yeah, like I ever do." He grumbled softly. "Just how much farther is it until we find this 'adventurer's lodge' you've heard so much about?"

Marik paused their trek and looked about the northern sector of Westshire. A few people gave him some concerned looks, but overall, they let him be. A figure nearly six and a half feet tall dressed all in a black cloak with the hood pulled up so far you couldn't see inside was an unusual thing, true. But the same thing that made any townsfolk wonder also made them too afraid to ask. As far as Marik was concerned, that was perfectly fine. Still, he couldn't make out the lodge anywhere nearby. He could see an old church nearby, though, and a young girl in a pale blue dress that stretched halfway down her calves with a brilliant red silk scarf tied about her neck emerging, a peculiar look on her face.

It was the look that captivated his eye, and through their connection, Morris' as well. She was positively glowing, excited by something words could not express. Held in place, Marik took a better look at her. She was attractive by anyone's definition; small and well defined, but a far shade from frail, her long brown hair falling behind her and dancing in the wind. Striking blue eyes stared out at the world, taking it all in with wonder. Despite that, she was dressed for travel; a pair of leather boots and banded gloves indicated she wasn't returning to that old church anytime soon. She hefted a backpack over one shoulder and walked briskly over to a nearby merchant.

Despite himself, Morris whistled appreciatively. "That's something worth waking up to." Marik sent his friend a mental chastisement, but the imp chuckled lowly. "Oh, be quiet. You were staring too."

_**Well, they didn't have anybody like her back at the Roadside Temple, that's for sure.**_ Marik admitted. _**But enough of that diversion. We have other business to attend to.**_

"Excuse me, sir." The girl said politely to the merchant, a crusty looking dwarf. "I'm looking for a guildhall. It's supposed to offer jobs for travelers."

The merchant released a stream of brown juice into a spittoon at his feet. "Yeh, you'd be talking about the adventurer's lodge there, lass." The middle aged dwarf said with a wink. "Looking fer it, I take it?"

She nodded, and once again, Marik and Morris found themselves watching her with interest.

_**How fortuitous. It looks like she may take us to our place of interest for us**__._

"Hell, somebody had to." Morris grumbled. "Maybe some of that 'bardic luck' rubbed off on you after all these years."

The dwarf tugged on his thick white beard and motioned towards the southwest. "Ye'd be finding it in that direction. It's on the western end o' town, it is. But what's a pretty young thing like yourself going to a place like that for?"

The girl smiled and dropped a copper on the counter for his trouble. "Because it's there." She replied, and took off with a spring in her step.

His arms still folded, Marik cracked a smile that nobody could see, but Morris could feel. _**Well, that was easy enough.**_ He took off at a slow pace after her, keeping the young woman in sight, but recalling the merchant's directions as well. In this crowd of people, he might lose her. Which, strangely enough, he did in a matter of moments.

It took them about forty-five minutes to traverse the distance by foot, weaving in and out of the crowds with an agility years of training had given the Sorceror. Had he felt more inclined to throw off the mask, however slight, of normalcy, he would have long ago jumped up onto a rooftop in a series of diagonal leaps and dashed across them. But normal people didn't do that, after all. All that was forgotten as soon as Marik saw their goal.

The Adventurer's Lodge didn't seem like much from the outside, just a single floored affair with a pair of swinging doors and a faded sign above it to announce the name. The inside was just as boring, and seemed much like a typical tavern, save for one thing; all across the back wall, pegged into place over a series of cork boards were sheets upon sheets of paper, both hastily scrawled and in finer, embroidered print.

Marik lifted an eyebrow. _**There it is, Marik. The wall of opportunity.**_

At the moment, nobody was standing by it, and the lodge was only halfway full. Its patrons were either at the bar or about the tables, swapping stories and laughing their heads off.

The barkeep looked up to Marik with a scrutinizing stare. "Here for a drink or a job, stranger?"

Morris, safely hidden inside of Marik's hood, took up his role as Marik's voice.

"A job…if it's worth our time."

The barkeep chuckled. "Oh? Well, that all depends, I suppose. What's your talent, hooded one?"

Marik thought for a moment, then produced his Sorceror's hand without a single gesture or uttered growl. It hovered there in the air and danced in front of the barkeep in a lyrical imitation of a famous dance before dissipating as quick as it had come.

The barkeep blinked. "An illusionist?"

"No." Morris said blithely. "Just your average mage."

The barkeep rolled his eyes. "Lord, lord. All right then. The wall's divided into three categories. In-town work and projects are on the left side. Crannogh Heights only jobs are in the middle. Everything else is on the right."

Marik nodded to the man and calmly strolled over to the board. _**This place is awfully forgiving for folks who don't want to show their face.**_

Morris for a change, spoke back through the telepathic connection as well. _I imagine you're not the most bizarre thing they've ever seen. Even if you do look like a specter of death._

Marik chuckled and looked briefly over the list of in-town jobs. _**Search for a lost dog. Return a stolen brooch. None of these pay well enough.**_

_Well, I imagine the more dangerous tasks are worth more. _Morris suggested. _Why don't you try looking at the right side of the jobs board?_

Marik moved over and looked carefully. One job caught his eye, just by the title alone.

**Stop an Assassin. Earn up to 1000 gold.**

_**Well, hello solution. **_Marik mused, stopping himself from rubbing at his chin.

Morris peered at it a bit closer, speaking up again. "An Assassin known as the Grey Shadow was responsible for the death of Dunsten Carmichael, a prominent businessman in Sorvindal with royal ties. A bounty of 3000 gold coins has been put on his head. Any party interested should seek out Ness Benson, located at the _Grimalkin's Bend_, west side of Westshire. Further details to be given upon acceptance of job."

Marik and Morris pondered that for a moment. Of the options they had, it was the most dangerous. It was the craziest.

But it paid the most. And that overwhelmed everything else. Marik summoned his magical hand again and tore the advertisement down, taking it back over to the barkeep.

He seemed disinterested at first. "So, find one you like?"

"I believe so." Morris replied, trying to sound casual. The floating green hand passed over the bulletin, and the barkeep frowned after reading it.

"Are you sure you want this one?" He asked, giving Marik an unsure look. "I mean, there are others up there…"

Marik shook his hooded head and Morris spoke up again. "I'm not afraid of trouble, sir. Besides, there's too much road left to be covered, and the reward is the greatest."

The barkeep seemed to try and form another rebuttal, but paused for a few moments and finally shrugged. "Well, all right then. Best of luck, stranger. You know where to find your contact?"

"It says _Grimalkin's Bend_." Morris stated. "How far away is that?"

The man shrugged. "Go about three hundred paces farther west of here. You can't miss it." Marik gave him one last respectful nod, then left, dragging the piece of paper in tow.

One of the men up nursing his beer gave the barkeep a wary glance. "Did he just take that job with Ness Benson?"

"Aye, he did." The old man behind the counter nodded.

The patron downed the rest of his tankard and shook his head. "Then offer up a prayer for that unlucky mage. That's the last we'll ever see of him."

"Aye." The barkeep said quietly. "Aye."

* * *

><p><em>Grimalkin's Bend Pub and Eatery<em>

It was exactly where the barkeep inside of the Adventurer's Lodge had said it would be, and that was a good sign, as far as the imp inside of Marik's hood thought. Marik always seemed wary of ill omens. Morris cared for the good ones.

It was relatively empty; only a few people were clustered about the tables, and the bar was empty, save for the man behind the counter, who was savoring a large slab of hard-baked bread. Marik went over to him and nodded, and Morris began to speak.

"I'm looking for a Ness Benson. I was told he was here." The bartender lifted an eyebrow and pointed to the far end of the establishment, his mouth too full of bread to speak properly. Marik followed the man's line of sight and picked out a single man in a green cloak at the back of the room, poking absently at the remains of a steak and nursing a glass of wine.

The bartender finally swallowed. "That's Benson back there, aye. He told me there might be some people looking for him."

Marik nodded politely and wandered over.

Ness was lost in the depths of his mind, a state made all the easier by the glass of honeyed wine traded by the elves of the Serene Orchard on the Island of Nessene. He was more than a little startled then, when a towering figure hidden within a full set of black robes and cloak and hood appeared before him.

"Ness Benson?" Came the voice from within the figure's hood. A male voice, albeit a little high pitched for his size, Ness thought.

"That's my name." The swordsman said dully, glancing up. "What's your business, Mister…"

"Observant." Morris's voice said from the hood. "Marik Observant. I hear you're looking for some help."

Ness gave his head a shake, laughing sadly. "Well, I take it you came from the Adventurer's Lodge then. I just put up that bulletin not but yesterday."

"Does it really pay that well?"

"The reward for his capture or death is three thousand gold from the King of Sorvindal himself." Ness answered, pushing his wine glass away. "Three thousand divided how many ways by the number of people who come with me."

Marik thought it over and nodded. "So what about traveling expenses?"

"I'm used to living off of the road." Ness said with a twinkle in his eye. "I hope you can take the outdoors."

Inside of the hood, Morris chuckled before continuing to pass along Marik's parlay. "I serve the Traveler. The road is something I'm used to."

Ness nodded. "Shouldn't be a problem then. All right, Mr. Observant. Just what sort of talents would you bring to this venture?"

Marik uttered a low growl as he tapped into his innate magical energies, and the plate with the remains of Ness' meal began to shake, then finally float up in the air and swirl about. Controlling it with his eyes and a hidden index finger, Marik let Morris ad-lib a response. "Magic of all sorts."

Ness leaned back in his seat. "Can you do much else besides parlor tricks?"

Annoyed, Marik kept the plate floating and concentrated on the rabbit's foot hanging from his side and hidden by his robes. His Sorceror's hand appeared, then promptly punched Ness square in the jaw with a small blow. Once the swordsman had recovered, rubbing at his injury, Marik let the hand disappear. The plate floated down soon after.

"Parlor tricks can hurt too, Mr. Benson. So. Will I be allowed to accompany you?"

Ness seemed to think long and hard for a moment, then chuckled. "Well, if you really want to, I can't stop you. We divide any spoils along the way evenly, or to who it will do the most good. We don't leave allies behind." His face hardened, and he raised a hand up to point at Marik. "And we do our damndest not to die. Can you live with those terms?"

Marik nodded, and Morris smiled as he spoke again. "I think so. You have yourself the services of a mage, Mr. Benson."

Ness stood up, realizing at last how tall the man in front of him was. The mage all in black had him beaten by at least half a head. "Then welcome aboard, Mr. Observant. Let's hope your god keeps you safe on this road." He extended his hand for a shake, and Marik tilted his head to the side.

"I…I'd prefer if we didn't shake on it." Morris said, passing Marik's warning along.

Ness blinked a few times and shrugged, retracting his hand. "Well, it's not all that important, I suppose. You don't like shaking hands?"

"I'm just afraid mine would frighten you." Morris answered, still speaking for Marik. "I was in a bad accident when I was little. The healers kept me alive, but they couldn't do much for my appearance."

Ness nodded at that. "And you're still out here on the road. That's the mark of a brave man indeed."

Marik exhaled in relief, glad to be over that bump. "Very well, 'chief'." Morris said, adding the new title to Ness Benson. "So what other details do we need to know about this Grey Shadow?"

Ness shrugged his shoulders again. "I'll be glad to tell you, but I think it would be best if we waited for the third member of our little band."

Marik frowned inside of his dark hood. "Third? Who else is coming?"

The door to the _Grimalkin's Bend_ opened up, jingling the bell suspended above it. Ness smiled and stared over to the door, leading the turning mage's eyes. "Aah, there she is now."

Marik and Morris both came up with the same surprised expression as they recognized the 'she' in question.

It was the same brown-haired girl they'd ogled earlier in the day.

Marik couldn't help but lift up a sleeve and point, and Morris spoke of his own volition. "Hey, she's the…"

Ness glanced over to the mage in black. "Oh? You know her?"

"Yeah." Morris explained, as the girl came over and smiled to Ness, her eyes drawn to the newcomer at once. "I saw you on the north side of town this morning."

The girl lifted an eyebrow. "Mr. Benson, I take it this is another one of our associates?"

"The third and last." Ness Benson said, drawing his green cloak over his right arm. "Marik Observant, a mage of some talent. Marik, this is your new associate. Rachel Ashbury, recently departed from the Calyssan missionaries."

Marik nodded at her, and Morris spoke up again. "A priestess?" He asked pointedly.

Rachel, while more than a little intimidated by the towering figure in front of her, managed a shake of her head.

"Not exactly." She replied. Ness motioned for them to sit down. Morris couldn't help but toss a quick mental thought Marik's way, one that the Sorceror was hard-pressed to ignore.

This little trip of theirs was looking to get interesting in short order.

* * *

><p>Ness shrugged off the effects of his elven alcohol with a few blinks and a long sigh. "The Grey Shadow's a somewhat famous assassin in Ashra. Most work for various rumored guilds, but old Grey, as I've come to call him, doesn't seem to be affiliated with any of those." He leaned back in his seat and looked over to the both of them. "Despite that, he's a chilling figure. His trademark is simple; he severs the heads of his victims, never to be seen again. Makes it impossible for investigators to track him or see his victim's final moments." Ness paused for a moment, looking to see how they'd take it.<p>

Rachel seemed to pale a little bit, but did not offer any other sign of discomfort. Marik, as imposing as ever, was unreadable. He hadn't even stirred at mention of the knave's actions.

"Just like my bulletin said, his latest victim was a prominent businessman in Sorvindal's capital. His death did not sit well with the king there. Our job is to find the Grey Shadow and either subdue him for trial, or barring that, end his life and the threat to the world around him."

"Strange." Came the calm voice from within Marik's hood. "I would have thought I'd hear of this man by now."

Ness smiled and looked at his hand. "It all depends on what circles you frequent, my boy. Most people try not to look too carefully into the lower wells of society. Daggers have been known to fly from them."

Rachel recovered her calm and lowered her hand to thoughtfully rest on her chin. "Is he much of a fighter?"

"Like all assassins, agility and speed are his greatest assets." Ness nodded. "I haven't yet had the chance to fight against him in single combat. But he is crafty. More than is humanly possible, I think, some days. I barely survived our last encounter."

Ness paused at that, then gave both Marik and Rachel a sad look. "Before we go any farther, I just have to ask, one last time. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Rachel frowned and looked up to Marik, then back at Ness. "It means we'll get to travel, right?"

"Naturally." Ness replied.

"And we'll be paid well for our efforts, including whatever spoils we happen upon along the way, yes?" The voice from Marik asked.

Ness lowered his head. "Yes."

Marik gave an affirming shrug of his shoulders, and Rachel nodded. "Then I'm not leaving. And it looks like Mr. Observant isn't planning on jumping ship either."

Ness didn't quite know what to think when they said that. He opened his mouth. Once. Twice. Each time he tried to come up with a rebuttal, and each time he fell short. The swordsman finally shook his head, seeming a little older, and wearing a sad smile. "Well, I suppose that welcomes are in order." He stood up and cleared his throat. "I last saw the Grey Shadow in the hills above the road northeast of here. Since then, reports I've gotten indicate he's slowly moving west, with an occasional dip south."

"You even know his trail?" Rachel asked, piqued. Ness gave a grave nod of his head.

"I've been chasing the Grey Shadow now for eight years."

Morris, still acting as Marik's voice, couldn't stop himself from drawing in a sharp breath. "Eight years?" He said incredulously. "You have some sort of grudge against the man?"

"He's not a man, he's a monster." Ness retorted darkly. "His actions have made that clear. And no, it's not a grudge."

Ness slung his traveling rucksack over his shoulder and walked out of the pub, flipping a gold coin at the innkeeper for the meal and board, with a little extra for his trouble. "I just want him dead."

* * *

><p>Another road. Another campsite. Another meal of trail rations. These were all the same to the imp and Sorceror. What was different was that two other people now accompanied them, which meant that Marik's hood stayed up…And Morris suffered inside of it, longer than he had ever had to.<p>

Morris' tail twitched. _Dangit, boss, I can feel my leg cramping up!_ _If I don't get out of here soon, it's going to look like your head's exploding!_

Marik glanced over to their two new comrades sitting about the fire, calmly eating their meal. He thought for a long moment about what to do before slowly nodding his head.

_**They would have found out about you eventually, Morris. You may as well introduce yourself now.**_

The imp froze. _Boss, are you sure? Couldn't we just turn in early to our tent?_

Marik gave a mental no. _**And what about the first time that we found ourselves in battle, and you struck out of my hood, ready to sting everyone in our path? No, I'd rather they knew, and be frightened less when that time comes.**_

Morris' big and comical ears pressed against the sides of his head. _You're taking a big risk here, boss._

_**Don't you remember what that one bard said once, about four months ago when he came through our home? "If it isn't a risk, then it isn't a gain." Besides, you've looked at them with your devil's eyes. You know they mean well.**_

_You and I switch minds sometimes, you know that? _Morris grumbled. _Where's that cynical spirit of yours?_

Marik pondered that for a moment, glancing at their two comrades. Ness Benson the swordsman, quiet but in command, with something constantly at the back of his mind, played over his face as a continued flashing worry. Rachel Ashbury, formerly of the Calyssan missionaries in Westshire, now out on the road seeking her own fortune and destiny, and genuinely cheerful, as well as a little unsure of herself.

_**Cynicism depends on the audience.**_ Marik finally thought. _**Somehow, it seems worth the risk here. **_

Morris trusted Marik on that, as he had trusted Marik nearly all his time here. He exhaled loudly, preparing himself for what had to be done.

"Ness, Rachel, before we go any farther, there's something I have to tell you." He began, drawing their eyes to him. "I haven't been entirely honest so far in this trip."

Ness' eyes narrowed. "Oh? How so, mage?"

Morris detached himself from the side of Marik's disfigured head with a sigh, causing a rustle of movement from within the hood. Rachel let out a gasp at the sight and Ness bit his lip and reached for his sword, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. "There's not one person in this outfit." Morris finally poked his head out of the hood and flashed a toothy grin, waving a clawed hand at them. "There's two. I'm the second."

Rachel squeaked in surprise and Ness was too stupefied to do anything but blink. Morris finished climbing out of the hood and opened his wings, flying over onto Marik's shoulder and stretching with a yawn. He crouched down on his haunches and looked over at Ness and Rachel expectantly. "Surprise."

Surprise didn't quite cover it, in Rachel's opinion. The small creature was one she'd never seen before in her life.

Rachel pointed. "Are you some sort of demon?"

"Devil, actually." Morris grumbled, folding his arms. "Personally, I'm glad to be away from all that. My name's Morris; Morris Redtail." The foot-high creature jerked a thumb at the man whose shoulder he sat on. "You already know Marik. I'm his…well, I guess the usual term is familiar."

Ness frowned. "But you're wearing clothes." True enough, Morris was. A loose set of trousers and his shirt vest, fitted just to his size.

The imp snorted, his barbed tail coming up beside him. "So are you, Mr. Benson." He jumped up from Marik's shoulder and hovered over and above the campfire, completely unfazed by the flames that licked up at him from below. "I've been the one that's been talking to the both of you all this time. It's a trick that Marik and I developed to handle social situations. Not everybody is as forgiving of my presence as I hope you two are." One of Morris' floppy ears drooped. "You're not going to try and kill me, right?"

Ness thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. Rachel, who was surprised at first, examined the self-named imp with an open mind. She slowly stood up and walked over to Morris, meeting him at eye level as he hovered there, his thick leathery wings keeping him aloft with ease.

Morris and the blue eyed, brown-haired girl stared at each other for a long time before she finally spoke.

"Are all devils as small as you?"

Morris cracked a smile at that, toothy to be sure, but the sheer malevolence of most imps was lacking in him, which made him seem coy rather than conniving. Impish, in the purest sense of the word. "No, but they're far uglier."

Morris gave her a quick nod, then went back to the relative safety of Marik's shoulder. His expression seemed to dull out, then he began to speak again. The playful tone of his voice vanished, Rachel noticed.

"Morris is my voice." The imp said, and the swordsman and healer realized it was Marik speaking, somehow communicating with Morris. "We can talk to each other through our bond, and I've found it easier over the years to let him do the talking for me. It frightens people less."

Ness tilted his head to the side. "Before you continue, Mr. Observant, I have to know…"

The Sorceror shook his head. "No, I'm not evil. And Morris and I already know that neither of you are. You're both of good hearts; a quality that relieved both my friend and I." Rachel said nothing, but still found it slightly amusing to hear Marik's words coming out of Morris' frame. "If…_When_ we get into trouble…" Morris corrected himself, "Morris likes to throw himself into the fray, using his natural aptitude for being unnoticed to strike critical blows at our opponents. It just made sense to reveal this to you now, instead of in the heat of battle. We're going to have to learn to trust each other if this is to succeed, after all." The imp looked over to Rachel. "Do you know some spell or another that would tell you our true characters?"

The girl nodded and closed her eyes, putting her first three fingers against her forehead. A few murmured syllables later, she opened her eyes, and they glowed a brilliant white. For a moment, she glanced over Morris the imp and Marik the Sorceror, then smiled. "Ness, they're telling the truth." Auras unseen to all but her glowed brightly, Marik's a comforting blue, and Morris's a dull gray that indicated neutral tendencies.

The swordsman leaned back and sighed, pulling his hand away from his sword. "Well, I'll be. I'm sorry for doubting you, Mr. Observant."

The Sorceror shook his head, and Morris chuckled in relief. "Best we get the doubts out of the way now. It wouldn't do us any good in a fight." Marik stood up and bowed to them, and Morris gave them a wave. "Well, I think we're going to turn in. Ness, Rachel, we'll see you in the morning."

"Good night Marik…and Morris." Rachel called out, remembering to mark the imp. The two disappeared within the confines of their tent and the healer turned to look at Ness, looking pleased.

"Well, that was an unexpected surprise."

"Aye, it was." Ness agreed, wrapping his green cloak around him to stave off the beginnings of the night's chill. "Instead of three of us, there are now four."

Rachel had discarded her scarf and slipped on a blue shawl to help with the cold. She drew her arms around herself and regarded the fire for a moment longer, then glanced over to the darkened tent where Marik and Morris had tucked in. It was sealed shut, and no light seeped out from a candle or cantrip.

"Morris seems like a nice enough fellow." Rachel commented. "He's sort of adorable, isn't he?"

Ness snorted. "An imp? Adorable? Miss Ashbury, that's the first time I've ever heard such a creature described that way." She gave him another one of her perfect smiles and brushed an errant strand of her hair back.

"Still, now I'm left wondering about Marik." She finished, her voice quiet as the embers of their fire crackled.

"Oh? What about? He's good, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"So you're not afraid of him. He may be imposing, but he seems well-meaning enough." The swordsman pointed out. "So what is it you're wondering about?"

The girl drew her knees up a bit and leaned against them, staring back into the fire. "He's just so quiet…and he hides in that cloak and robes of his."

Ness shrugged. "Maybe he just likes his privacy. Or maybe he thinks we wouldn't like what we'd see if we did see him."

Rachel frowned and gave her head a shake. "No, I don't think so. I felt something when I looked at him."

The swordsman rolled his eyes. "Good lord. All right then, humor me. What did you 'feel' when you looked at Marik?"

"A sadness." Rachel replied. "And a fear of everyone. There's more reason to that cloak of his than he let on."

The comment hung there over the fire, the embers crackling. Their conversation was quiet enough that Marik hadn't heard. Morris had, though.

He pulled away from the side of the tent, letting his sensitive oversized ears droop. Looking over to Marik, who was fast falling asleep, he shook his head and landed on the carefully folded robes of his friend.

Some things Marik didn't need to know.

Sleep was welcome on their first night along the new journey.


	4. Three: Changing The Course

**Three: Changing the Course**

_Crannogh Heights, Ashra_

One thing that separated Ashra from the other continents on Terrus was how well settled it was. Civilization had pushed back the edge of the wilderness, creating stable countries and kingdoms at the heart of it all. The main benefit to this was undoubtedly the roads. The vast network of highways and cart paths spanned nearly the entire continent, save for portions of Istus, all of frigid Wildus, and the unimportant, undeveloped wastelands of Marnus Rhee.

Ness Benson and his newly hired companions followed the road leading west, passing by the rolling hills of the north and the flatlands leading to the coast at the south. Behind them was Westshire, and all that they had left behind. In front of them was the rest of the road, and somewhere, they hoped, the assassin known as the Grey Shadow.

Ness had sold his horse to the stable at Westshire and suffered on foot like Rachel and Marik did. Their pace was brisk, and the heat of the day had them adjusting for comfort's sake. Ness brushed a hand along his brow, fighting off the sweat. Rachel had similarly loosened her scarf.

Marik, Ness noticed with a glance behind him, stubbornly refused to acknowledge the warmth of the midday sun. He simply plodded along, his arms swinging slowly at his sides at the rear of their pack. Morris fluttered overhead, affording a glance at the terrain that none of the others had.

Morris flew down beside Ness and shook his head. "We've got some company coming."

Ness frowned. "What kind, imp?"

"My name's Morris. I'd appreciate if you used it." The little devil grumbled. "A couple of travelers coming down the road from the opposite direction."

Rachel gave a thoughtful glance to their winged companion. "Anything to worry about?"

Morris's eyes glazed over, a change that caught them off guard before they noticed Marik coming up to close the gap behind them. "Maybe. I'm going to have Morris go up and keep out of sight, just in case."

Ness blinked. "Keep out of sight?"

Morris went back to his regular voice and chuckled, flying up into the air. "Just trust me!" He called back down. He flew towards the sun and Ness squinted, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. By the time he was able to look again, Morris Redtail had vanished from sight. Ness afforded a questioning look back to Marik, but the faceless giant of a mage shrugged and pointed ahead with one overextended sleeve. Ness drew a hand through his hair. "Do you mean to say we should continue on?" Marik gave another nod.

Rachel offered a smile to Ness as she started walking on ahead. "Why not? For all we know, they're just simple travelers like us."

"Maybe." Ness mumbled, jogging up to pass her and resume his place at the front of their entourage. There was an edge to his voice when he said that, the girl noticed. Marik, if he had sensed anything, remained as stonily quiet as ever, plodding behind. For several minutes the road was quiet, and then from the hill ahead, they could make out a band of about five individuals cresting over it, calmly marching along.

Ness was still on edge as they came closer, and Rachel remained impassive. As for Marik and, more importantly, his comrade high above, they perceived something a little quicker than the others. The travelers coming towards them all carried walking sticks and wore short gray cloaks, embroidered with a familiar design. Morris, able to dart behind the approaching band, saw something that Marik was surprised, yet pleased, to notice.

_**…Are you sure?**_

_ Boss, I know that symbol when I see it._

_**Good tidings indeed. Come back, Morris. We'll need to break the ice and smooth over this meeting.**_

_ On the way, Marik._ Morris' smug mental reply was accompanied about ten seconds later with the fluttering of noisy wings moving more for speed and less for silence. Marik's hood seemed to quiver for a moment, and the Sorceror moved up beside his two comrades. Morris spoke out from his hiding place in Marik's hood.

"Relax, Mr. Benson. Those are priests of Weyveliste, on a sojourn. Vagabonds." Ness's face relaxed and he looked to the towering mage and the imp tucked somewhere in his hood.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

Marik gave a definitive nod of his head, and Morris spoke up again. "We've had some experience with the Traveler's priests. Perhaps they'll give us a blessing on our trip, if we play our cards right."

Rachel tilted her head to the side. "Weyveliste? Is he one of the gods on this world?"

Ness nodded and looked back to the female member of their group. "Weyveliste is the protector of travelers, gamblers, and risk-takers, and the seeker of new roads. Naturally, his priests like to flit about. When they're on their travels, they are called Vagabonds."

Rachel smiled at that. "How interesting. Can we meet with them, Mr. Benson?"

"I think we can use each other's first names by now. Call me Ness. And it's all right with me, I suppose. Marik, you and Morris seem to have more familiarity with them than we do, so why don't you handle the introductions?"

The towering mage in black nodded again and moved in the front, walking calmly along as they came closer to the travelers. Once they were within forty feet, Marik lifted a sleeve up and Morris, safely hidden within the confines of his hood, sent out a shout.

"Well met, servants of the Traveler!" The imp announced cheerfully. The five gray-cloaked figures paused at that, but the leader smiled and moved towards him.

"And well met yourself, traveler. What causes you to be on the road today?"

Marik motioned to Ness and Rachel, slowly coming up from behind. "My friends and I go west, on our way towards Samael's Lands. What sets you all wandering?"

The leader shrugged, brushing a hand through his black hair. "Nothing in particular. It just felt like a good day to walk." He leaned on his walking stick and examined Ness, Marik, and Rachel with scrutinizing eyes. "Such a small group, though? Aren't you worried of bandits?"

Morris and Marik both lifted an eyebrow at that, for the traveling servants of Weyveliste were not known to ever concern themselves with bandits. Those that were found or encountered were always dealt with most severely.

"Why? Should we be?" Morris prodded, still nothing more than an unseen presence within Marik's hood. "Have you heard tales of bandits in these parts?"

The man looked back to his fellows, who all shared a laugh. "Well, you know how it is, my friend. Anytime somebody mentions hills, bandits always come after in rumors. And the Crannogh Heights are known for those."

Ness almost winced at that. He glanced to Rachel at his side, quiet and absorbing everything around her with open and curious eyes, then to the hooded mage known as Marik Observant in front of them. The memories of his own recent failure were still fresh in his mind.

"These hills can be remarkably unforgiving." Ness finally said, drawing up behind Marik and slowly nodding his head. "Priests, would you be willing to spare a blessing for your fellow travelers on this highway?"

The leader blinked and frowned for a few moments before nodding his head. "I suppose it is the least we can do."

He lifted his free hand up, the palm facing to the three sojourners. "May Weyveliste bless you and leave your road free of highwaymen." The words came kindly, and Ness smiled. It seemed as good a blessing as any he'd ever gotten.

But Marik and Morris were less than convinced. They kept their worries to themselves, of course, for it wouldn't do to create hostility where none existed. And they may still have been overly paranoid. In silent conference, their thoughts flashed back and forth before Marik had a brilliant idea.

He raised his sleeve up, hand still hidden, and let Morris carry through the opening line to an obscure prayer within the Traveler's sect…but known by heart to the both of them.

"The road is long." Morris said solemnly.

The head priest of the group blinked at that and finally cracked a nervous smile. "I suppose it is. Safe journeys, sir, to you and your fellows."

The last alarm flew up in Marik's mind, but he did nothing to indicate it. Nodding as if nothing was amiss, he had Morris carry out the rest of their delicate balancing act. "And to you and yours, worthy priest. Well, Ness, Rachel, let's not dawdle. There are many miles left to cover today." Marik turned about and motioned for his companions to keep going forth.

The priests of Weyveliste opened their ranks and made a path for them to go through. Ness went first, perfectly at ease. Rachel went after him, smiling and nodding to the clerics as she passed by. And Marik went through last, Morris quietly slipping out of his hood and crawling back onto his shoulder.

Morris's action went unnoticed by the priests, of course; it was hard to see something that was invisible. Marik calmly walked forward, even as Morris' burning beady black eyes were set solidly on the priests behind them, a fair distance behind Ness and Rachel. For this to work, there had to be one viable target, and the Sorceror was intent on making that target himself.

At least he knew what was coming.

Ness and Rachel walked on, oblivious of the spectacle unfolding behind them. Marik had again surprised them, somehow knowing enough about Weyveliste's ways to make their short meeting pleasant.

Had it not been for Marik and Morris' alert minds and eyes, that encounter could have played out far worse. As it stood, the first sign of trouble to the healer and swordsman was the strange sound of a horrific, inhuman screech and flap of wings, then a scream of pain. They turned about in an instant, off their guard and unawares.

Marik already had the situation handled.

Morris flew back from his bolted strike, his tiny teeth gnashing as he pointed a finger at their leader. The hidden dagger that the man had pulled from underneath his cloak hit the ground forgotten, and he howled in pain as he reached for what was left of his right eye. Morris' barbed tail glistened from the poison he had jammed into the leader's face. "Like hell you're all priests." Morris snarled, not needing Marik's input to speak the thought they both shared. "You're nothing but a band of murderous thieves!"

Ness hastened to draw his sword, but the remaining four bandits, their own daggers drawn, rushed Marik with a roar of anger. Rachel's eyes widened in horror as she lifted a hand to her mouth, barely having time to scream out Marik's name before the bandits were within striking distance.

"No!" Ness roared, sudden adrenaline rushing through him as he took his first charging step towards them all. He could see it again; an ambush, another ally lost to the mission and to his curse.

But something was different this time from the past. Marik showed no signs of worry, no hesitation, and no concern for anything except the foes in front of him.

Morris leapt out with another screeching howl, landing a solid sting from his wicked tail into the thigh of the next attacker. At the same moment, a glowing green hand appeared out of nowhere and slammed as hard as it could into the groin of the second. The man's eyes went wide in an instant as he collapsed inward, wheezing for air.

Marik's left sleeve was pointed straight down to the feet of the third, and he completed the spell he had growled out at the fight's beginning. A small blue ray shot down and crystallized into frost and ice on the bandit's boot. It expanded out to the ground as well, making him stick long enough to trip him up and fall flat on his face.

The last bandit got the closest to Marik, screaming as he raised his dagger above his head. "You bloody mage!" The thief cried out, bringing himself in for the strike. One quick blow and he would pierce the hood of the man, ending his life with one shot to the skull.

He didn't get the chance. Pulling on his years of training with Rodian and all the others in the Roadside Temple, Marik dropped to one knee and extended his right arm out, landing a forceless punch into the underside of the man's ribcage.

Then he twisted his wrist ever so slightly, but deliberately. The bandit felt a brief sting, then tremendous pain as a foreign object ran clear through him and emerged on the other side of his body.

He let out a brief gasp and hung there, impaled on the springloaded longsword hidden within Marik's right sleeve.

Ness came to a halt beside Marik, stunned as well, but not from an injury.

In a matter of seconds, Marik and Morris had disabled five attackers and blunted the entire ambush.

Rachel, squeaked once and then held her breath, shocked by the sight.

The last bandit choked on a few ragged gasps and dropped his dagger, reaching for the sword buried deep in his gut. The black-hooded Sorceror said nothing, as always, and jerked his wrist again. The blade retracted in an instant with an audible _shiiiink_, and the dying body of the bandit collapsed to the ground.

As Marik stood back up, looking none the worse for wear, Morris hovered onto his shoulder. The imp seethed, clenching his tiny fists. "Impersonating Vagabonds of Weyveliste…Bandits usurping the good name of those who protect travelers…You all _deserve_ to die." The clarity in his voice meant it was Marik's words coming through him then.

Ness looked down at the first two of the brigands, who were slowly becoming near catatonic. "Just what did you do to them?" He asked warily. Ness turned his attention over to the bandit Marik had iced and laid him out with a solid kick to the jaw before looking back at his Sorceror.

Morris lifted his scrawny arm up. "That'd be my work." His tail waved above his head, still glistening from the poison on the tip. "It's my venom, chief. It paralyzes most things I hit with it. These guys? Heh! Didn't stand a chance."

Ness shook his head. "I…I don't believe it. I thought for sure you were going to…"

"Die?" Morris interjected, lifting an eyebrow. "Doubtful. Not to scum like this. Not on this road." He looked over to their Calyssan healer, still shaken by the brief skirmish. "Hey, Rachel! Are you all right?"

"I…I'm fine." She managed, regaining her voice. She glanced over to the fake priests and shook her head. "But how did you know? That they weren't real priests of…"

"Priests of Weyveliste?" Morris answered, his voice calm, but bitter as Marik's words took over. "They didn't know the Traveler's prayer. Not many people outside of the order know it, but all priests do. When these goons screwed it up, Morris and I knew we weren't dealing with ordained clerics. The entire conversation was odd, but that clinched it. After that, it was just waiting for them to strike." The Sorceror folded his large sleeves. "And I was going to be damned if they did it while you two were in danger."

Ness shook his head. "But they still outnumbered you. How did you know you could take down five bandits all at once?"

Marik's hood gave a gentle shake, and Morris chuckled. "He didn't." The imp said sheepishly. "But that's never stopped him before." Morris' face turned serious again. "More pressing, however, is this travesty these charlatans are committing. Impersonating Vagabonds of Weyveliste and then robbing travelers is not looked favorably on." Marik motioned to the bandit still prone on the ground, groaning from the shot to his groin. "Pick him up, Ness. I've got a few questions for him."

Rachel unsteadily walked over to Marik and glanced up at him, trying to see inside of his hood, but failing and seeing only darkness. "Just what are you going to ask him?" She inquired, nervously pulling on her bright red scarf.

Morris looked down from Marik's shoulder and shook his head. "Oh, it's not what he's going to ask him. It's what _I'll_ be asking him." The imp managed another small grin. "Although it's more like what he'll be telling me, to be specific."

Ness hoisted the only partially conscious bandit up, the man's arms held tightly in the vicelike grip of the swordsman. "Well, whatever it is you're planning on asking him, hurry it up. We've got better things to do than fool around here all day."

Morris nodded and jumped from Marik's shoulder, injecting the man once more with another dose of venom from his stinger. This time around, an inky darkness seemed to flow from the barbed tail, staining the skin of the thief around the sting. "A side quality of my venom; Imps produce two toxins. The first is a paralytic, but the second is sort of a truth serum. If it takes hold, it makes a victim very susceptible to interrogation and suggestion."

"I didn't know that." Ness admitted, a little paler after the explanation.

"Most people don't." Morris glanced back at them. "It's not exactly a quality devilkind advertises. Of course, it doesn't always work, but in this case, the odds are in our favor."

Morris turned to the thief, whose pupils had dilated, and now seemed woozy. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful." The man answered, slurring slightly.

"Imagine you're someplace warm and quiet. Are you doing that?"

"Yes."

"Can you feel the sun on your skin?"

"Yes." Satisfied with the man's answers, Morris moved on.

"Tell me, what's your name?" The imp asked gently, floating from side to side in front of the man's face.

Ness, stupefied, let go of the man. The bandit stood on his own power, drooped over slightly and still completely focused on Morris. Carefully stepping around, Ness went over beside Marik and shook his head. "I…I don't believe this. Is there anything that your little friend Morris can't do?"

Deprived of his voice, Marik tilted his hooded head back and forth before shrugging, indicating he couldn't really answer the question. He looked over to Rachel, who stared back up at him with a combination of wonder and fear.

It stung Marik to see that look in her eyes…Ness was simply surprised. Rachel looked as though she suddenly doubted whether or not Marik was worth associating with. Slowly, the Sorceror turned his gaze back to Morris, allowing his friend to carry out his work.

The man's jaw hung at an odd angle. "My name's Illian Chase…"

"Hello, Illian."

"Hello."

"Illian, why are you dressed like a Vagabond?"

"Because it would help us to rob travelers going by our hills here." The man answered easily, his rational mind suspended by the calm voice and potent truth venom of Morris Redtail. The imp began to falter in the air, the strain of producing the black venom finally taking its toll on him.

"And where did you get those vestments?" Morris asked, grunting a bit.

Illian the bandit smiled dreamily. "We captured…some priests. Unlucky ones. We put them in our camp and took their clothes for ourselves."

"And…the priests are still alive?"

"…Yes…" Illian Chase answered back, beginning to blink.

Morris took in one troubling breath and tested the limits of the man's envenomated condition. "Then…do you think you could take us to them?"

Illian wavered there, teetering back and forth as Morris weakly flew back to Marik's shoulder and slumped over it. Marik stared at the man, holding back his breath, waiting to see if Morris had been able to finish the effect.

Finally, Illian bobbed his head up and down. "Yes. I can take you to them." He slowly turned about and faced in a northerly direction, then tottered off, moving at a slow pace. Morris cackled as he pulled himself into a sitting position, still looking weak.

"Sweet naked fairies! It actually worked!"

Ness folded his arms and frowned at the imp and Sorceror. "You can't be serious about this. Marik, we have a mission to get to!"

Marik shook his head vehemently, and the imp groaned. "Oh, come on, Ness. Sure, we survived the ambush, but what about the next set of travelers that happens by? Will they be as lucky? No. We have to stop this now. We have to free those clerics. Otherwise, they'll keep robbing, and they'll keep killing people just trying to get someplace else, just like us."

Ness drew a hand over his face. The argument he was faced with was a powerful one, and time and time again, he found himself staring into the dead, questioning eyes of those who had fallen by his side. He looked over to Rachel. "Well, Miss Ashbury, Marik and Morris have made their opinion known. What do you say?"

The Calyssan pursed her lips for a moment, then nodded her head, tightening the red scarf about her neck. "As much as we want to stop the Grey Shadow, this is immediate, and Marik is right. Those clerics they captured are in trouble. I know that if anyone harmed the rest of the missionaries of Calyssa back in Westshire, I'd do whatever I could to save my friends. My vote is to stop and help them."

Ness rolled his eyes. "By the Mountain Lord's beard…all right, all right. I know when I'm beaten. We'll see what we can do to save those priests of Weyveliste." The swordsman gave Marik a weak smile. "Who knows? With you and Morris along, we might just stand a chance. Why didn't you tell me you could fight like that?"

"You never asked." Morris replied, and the two calmly marched off after the wandering thief.

Ness stuck around a little longer to tie up the remaining bandits and drag them to the side of the road. "Let's just be making sure you won't be causing anybody any problems." Ness grumbled, scribbling a quick note and pinning it to the shirt of the first bandit. It was a warning to any other passerby that they were thieves, and should be left alone. Rachel dawdled as well, giving a long glance towards Marik and Morris as they wandered off.

"I didn't know he could do all that." Rachel said, working up the nerve to speak.

Ness shrugged his shoulders and fixed his green cloak, standing up from his work. "I didn't either. But I'm glad he's on our side." Ness shuddered a bit. "I've never really understood mages, short of that I've never wanted to be on the opposite side of a battlefield of one. But Marik Observant is by far the most interesting spellshaper I've ever known. He and that little imp of his are quite the pair. They can be rather cunning."

Rachel held her arms around her midsection, clear blue eyes filled with the first signs of hesitation. "And frightening." She finished quietly, trailing after Ness as they ran to catch up to Marik and Morris.

Ahead, Morris and Marik kept their telepathic congress quiet. Morris had felt unrest in Marik; unrest at how Rachel Ashbury had looked at him.

Not respect. Not awe. Worry, and a hint of fear. As if he was some kind of monster to be kept at a distance.

There was little Morris could do to cheer his friend up, after a shattering observation like that. They had halted the ambush, and saved their friends.

But they were alienating them in the process, and the road looked a little bleaker for that.

* * *

><p>Illian Chase, a befuddled but pleasant expression on his face, led them northwards through the countryside. The Crannogh Heights were a combination of rolling hills and small patches of farmland every so often. After an hour's walking, they crested over the top of a hill and could make out a camp below.<p>

Morris was out on Marik's shoulder, and between his own sharp eyes and Morris', they could make out sentries calmly patrolling the outer perimeter of the bandits' camp. "Illian, come back here!" Morris urged suddenly, stretching back out to his hold over the weak-minded rogue. Illian teetered for a moment, then turned back around, still smiling in his same dopey fashion.

"Okay. Say, that's my camp back there."

"We know." Morris told him, rolling his eyes. Once the thief had come back over the other side of the hill and vanished out of clear sight of the camp below, Morris nodded to him. "Say Illian, I want you to take a nap now. Go to sleep for a few hours."

"Okay." Illian complied calmly, slumping over on his side and soon snoring. Morris exhaled and drew a hand over his face, looking exhausted.

"Well, that's that. And don't ask me to do that again for a while. I used up all my truth venom on that bozo."

Ness smiled at the imp sitting on Marik's shoulder. "Fair enough. But that was a very effective trick there." He dropped down onto his belly and slowly inched to the top of the hill, glancing down over the side. "Now we just have to figure out if anyone saw our wandering friend before you pulled him back."

Marik kept quiet, standing by the sleeping form of their guiding bandit. He afforded a look over to Rachel, who couldn't bring herself to look at him straight. She managed a few sideways glances, looking back towards Ness between them in the hopes that she wouldn't be noticed.

Unfortunately for her, both the imp and Sorceror had sharp eyes. And Marik, after an hour of silence from the usually cheerful girl, had had enough.

"Why are you afraid of me?" Morris asked, and Rachel looked up at him.

"Eh?"

"Why are you so afraid of me?" Morris asked again, quieter the second time. Rachel blinked a few times before she noticed that Morris was carrying over Marik's words.

Rachel felt a splash of color rising up to her face. "Well, I…I mean, I…"

Marik's shoulders seemed to hunch down a bit, and the imp sighed. "I suppose I haven't given you much reason to not be. Miss Ashbury, you have to understand. We had no choice. They would have given us no quarter, and after killing us, gone after you and Ness. A quick and sudden strike was the only way." The imp blinked a few times, and then spoke with his own voice. "Yeah, I suppose that's about right. Is that what's been bothering you, Rachel? How we fight?" Morris shrugged. "I don't think those bandits would have given us a fighting chance if the skirmish had been in their favor. And we left four of them alive. As for the last one…" Morris pursed his toothy lips shut for a moment, then folded his wings around him like a cloak. "Sometimes we just don't have a choice."

Rachel absorbed it all, trying to figure out how to respond. "You…just surprised me back there, is all."

"I think you'll find we're full of surprises." Morris grumbled. "But you don't need to be afraid of us, girl. We're comrades now. We have to look out for each other, and that's just what we did."

The imp's expression softened. "But…I suppose if that's not enough, then we'll just keep quiet and stop bothering you." Marik began to turn around, but Rachel finally found her voice.

"No, please." Marik turned his head back around, and the young healer bowed in apology. "Forgive me. I…I shouldn't have shunned you like that. True, you surprised me, but I'm more put off by your appearance than how you fight." Marik straightened up, and the girl smiled at him nervously. "I mean, never showing yourself, dressed all in black? There must be a reason for it, I'm sure. Is it for intimidation's sake?"

Marik stared at her for a few moments longer before Morris shook his horned head. "I don't let appearances interfere with how I look at people. I'm sad to hear that's not the case with others." His voice was cold and clear, indicating it was Marik's words and not his own. The Sorceror turned about and maneuvered up closer to Ness, leaving Rachel behind to shake her head.

"Blast." The girl whispered under her breath, clenching a hand at her side. "That didn't go well at all."

Ness backed away from the hill and turned to Marik and Rachel, blissfully unaware of the minor dispute that had taken place. "There's about eight men in the camp; it could very well be there's more in there as well."

Morris, still sitting on Marik's shoulder, tilted his head to the side. "What about those Vagabonds? Could you see any of them?"

The veteran swordsman shook his head. "Not outside, but I'd wager money that they've got them tied up in one of the camp's tents." Ness glanced over to Morris. "Morris, you've demonstrated a unique ability to be unseen. Think you might be able to find them, figure out what we're dealing with here?"

Morris bobbed his head, flopping his ears about. "That? Sure, no problem. You and the girl stay back, and Marik and I will go see what the bandits are up to."

Ness frowned. "Hold on." He glanced over to Marik. "Can he make himself invisible too?"

Morris shook his head. "Not yet, no. He's learning how to. But right now…" At this, the imp shot a pointed glance over Ness' shoulder back towards Rachel, "It's a little friendlier on the other side of the hill than it is here." Morris gave one last nod to Ness, then disappeared in a flash of his wings. Marik, hunched down and all too quiet, slipped over the side of the hill and descended quickly, nothing more than a whisper in the wind.

Ness rubbed at his chin, curious. "Strange." He finally said, peering over the side of the hill and watching with newfound appreciation as Marik deftly moved from obstruction to obstruction, rock to tree as he descended. The wandering bandit watchman below would occasionally glance upwards, but not once did he spot the approaching giant dressed all in black. "I wonder what he meant by that."

Rachel sunk down beside him, leaning on her arms as she peered over the side of the hill. Her blue eyes were dimmer than usual when she spoke. "I fear it's something I did." Ness glanced over to her, and the girl looked back at him, sad. "Something I said."

Ness frowned. "What did you say to him?"

"He was trying to…Well, trying to tell me I didn't have to be afraid of him, thinking I was intimidated by his display with those fake priests earlier."

"You did voice a concern back there." Ness noted. "So?"

"I…I told him it was his appearance that put me off." Rachel finally explained. "How he looks." She firmed up her resolve, frowning a bit. "But come on. He towers over me. He dresses like a specter of death. What am I supposed to think of him? He wants to be imposing."

Ness's face fell at that. "Is that what you think?" The older man asked the young woman. "It's not the case."

Rachel blinked a few times. "How? Do you have another idea for why he dresses like that, besides to put fear into his enemies?"

The swordsman nodded slowly. "Just what he told me." The leader of their small band answered, looking back down towards the Sorceror, quietly infiltrating the bandit camp. "He told me when he first joined up, Miss Ashbury, that he was badly scarred in his youth. Underneath that cloak and robe of his, Marik Observant hides his true form…not because he wants to intimidate us, but just for the reverse. He thinks, perhaps rightly so, that his true shape, his real appearance would hinder all his relations." Benson glanced at the young priestess. "It's not something you'd ever understand, is it? Being judged solely on your appearance?"

Ness' words struck home at the girl's heart, and she looked down on the running Marik with a new sense of respect…and at the same time, guilt. Now she realized what she had done, why her words had stung him so.

She understood perfectly what it meant to be judged on the basis of ones' appearance. Most people had looked at her and seen only a cheerful, attractive girl in the faith of Calyssa…and had labeled her as nothing more than a vapid wisp of a girl at best, and a harlot at worst.

"I understand that. Better than you know." She finally said back to the swordsman, a hint of anger in her voice. "I wish you had told me about that before. I must look a fool in his eyes."

The swordsman gave a sheepish shrug. "Then I suppose a part of the blame lies with me as well. My apologies, miss Ashbury. I'll be better about sharing what I know with the both of you from now on."

"How do I make amends to him? I must apologize!"

Ness set a hand on her shoulder consolingly. "Then pray to your goddess that you're given the chance to do so. Marik seems determined to thrust himself in harm's way for our sake." He gripped his sword tighter and offered a silent prayer up himself. "And I've seen too many comrades fall to be too optimistic."

Those words chilled Rachel, and she did give a quick prayer to Calyssa for the mages' safety.

A fluttering of wings caught their attention before an unseen presence landed on Ness' shoulder. The swordsman flinched and almost yelped before a familiar voice chuckled. "Take it easy, chief. It's just me."

"Morris." Ness exhaled, putting his head against the ground. "You frightened the daylights out of me." He looked back down to Marik, who calmly hid behind a rock. "What did you find out?"

"They've got twelve bandits in that camp; the eight you saw outside, two in discussion with another, and the last two guarding a batch of prisoners."

Ness frowned. "The priests, you mean."

"Heh…No, as far as we know, there are five priests captured down there. There are eleven prisoners." Came the disembodied voice of the smug little imp.

Rachel looked over to the area of Morris' voice. "Does Marik know about this?"

"Of course he does." Morris said bitterly to the girl. "I'm his familiar, remember?"

Ness harrumphed. "Morris, now's not the time for squabbling. We have some people to save, don't forget that."

"Right, right." The invisible imp grumbled, softening his tone. "So what's the plan, Benson?"

Ness gripped his sword hilt at his side again. "I will serve as a distraction for their main force. A screaming warrior usually attracts a lot of attention when he plods into an enemy camp. Rachel will stay close by to me, but out of sight. As for you, Morris, use that craftiness of yours and send in some sneaking blows to these knaves as they come out to fight us. The more you can leave on the ground paralyzed is all the better for us." Ness sighted in on the Sorceror again. "Do you think that Marik can manage to save all the prisoners by himself?"

Morris's disembodied voice chuckled at that. "Two armed thieves? He says that's not a problem."

Ness blinked. "What do you…oh. Of course." He corrected himself, tapping his forehead. "You can talk to him."

"The benefits of being linked." Morris said, and Rachel could almost picture the all too humanlike imp waggling one of his floppy ears at that. Ness felt the presence leave his shoulder, and both he and Rachel heard the light flutter of Morris's wings as he took off towards the camp, awaiting an opportunity to go to work.

Ness looked back to Rachel, concern on his face. "Miss Ashbury, I want you to be careful. Those men down there won't be forgiving. They will try to kill you."

The sixteen year old girl smiled at that, standing up and folding her arms so that her palms rested against her elbows, a picture of calm serenity. A faint white glow overcame her, and Ness felt himself becoming awed by her very presence. "Ness, you worry too much. They won't be able to kill me. They won't even want to hurt me." Ness blinked a few times and slowly stood up, unable to break his eyes from her.

"What magic is this?"

"Mine." Rachel said shortly, looking like an angel dropped to earth, as far as Ness could tell. "Do what you must, Ness. You will not fall, as long as I stand by you."

The swordsman offered a weak smile as he turned away, recovering his senses as he looked away from her. "I suppose not. Then let's not waste any time." He drew out his blade and glanced down to the bandit keeping watch on the perimeter below. Letting out a scream, Ness charged down the hill.

The bandit keeping watch had a crossbow loaded in his hands, and upon seeing Ness, there was but a moment's hesitation before he pulled the trigger, firing the quarrel. Only inches separated Ness from the end of his life as the bolt whistled angrily over his shoulder. Hastily, the bandit reached for his short sword, but Ness was upon him in a moment. Relying on his speed, Ness slammed into the thief before the panicked bandit could pull his sword all the way out. It clattered helplessly to the ground as the thief went tumbling backwards. Ness finished the charge, landing a ferocious kick to the side of the man's face that left an audible crack in the air. His jaw dislocated, the sentry fell unconscious…Alive, but clearly out of the fight.

Rachel descended behind him, keeping her arms drawn about her. "Rosequeen protect us." She said quietly, though the gentle glow around her seemed ample reassurance.

Ness raised his longsword above his head and whipped it around, shouting like a madman. "Come out and face me, you cowardly backstabbers!" He shrieked. "Come out and face doom at the hands of Ness Benson!"

Out of every corner of the camp they came, men in various states of armament and armor. Some carried blades, others daggers. At least two others, Ness counted, had crossbows as well.

He drew in a breath as they approached him. "I'm crazy. That's it, it has to be." He told himself, tightening his grip on his blade. Already, one of the crossbow-wielding bandits was leveling his weapon, zeroing in on Ness. He was ready to fire, and though Ness prepared to dodge, he knew that luck certainly wasn't on his side.

Thankfully, a little imp was. Out of thin air, the tiny fluttering figure of Morris Redtail appeared behind the concentrating thief and jammed his poisonous barbed tail into the bandit's exposed neck. Yelping, the bandit slapped at him, but Morris had already flown over to the next bandit beside him, a man with a longsword and dagger. Another quick sting and another cry later, Morris let out a guffaw and flew up into the air. Just as the bandits became aware of him, Morris blinked from sight again with a new cloak of invisibility and flew out of danger. Soon after, the two men he had struck froze up and collapsed onto the ground.

Ness broke out into a grin and shook his head. "Bless that scruffy little devil." He muttered to himself, moving towards the remaining bandits as they charged all at once, surprised by the fall of two of their comrades, but moving quickly. "You want me? Come on!" Ness cried out, moving to engage the nearest with a wild slash that made the thief take a few careful steps back. Acting on his own, Morris stabbed the second crossbowman just after he fired. The bolt slammed into Ness' shoulder with tremendous force, and the swordsman let out a grunt of pain. It hurt terribly, and more importantly, it gave the other bandits a moment of weakness to act on.

"He's injured! Let's finish him!" One of the others called out, and they all rushed him at once. That was, they were beginning to rush him…

Until Rachel stepped out in front of Ness, glowing all the brighter. She shook her majestic head back and forth, lifting a palm out towards them. "You don't want to harm me." She said softly, coy and feminine. One by one, the bandits drew to a halt and stared, mesmerized by her gentle smile and soft eyes, and the glow that bathed her in a wondrous light.

Ness blinked a few times himself at the sight, no longer captivated by Rachel, but wondering all the same how she could soothe so many ferocious warriors all at once.

"Shh." Rachel said quietly, resting a hand on Ness' wounded shoulder. "Don't worry. They won't harm me, and they won't harm you, so long as I stand between you and them."

Ness winced and reached for the bolt. "Just what kind of a healer are you?" He voiced, finding more and more cause to question just what sort of traveling companions he had selected for this trip.

Rachel's blue eyes looked up briefly as she smiled, the warmth in her eyes going down to her fingers and suffusing a tingling, healing glow into his injury. "The best you'll ever meet." She said confidently. Awestruck, Ness watched as she pulled the crossbow bolt from his shoulder, glowing motes of light dancing around the wound. When she pulled her hand away, he felt no pain, no hindrance. It was as if the arrow had never hit him at all.

Rachel smiled and tossed the bolt aside, looking back to the bandits. "Tell me Ness, how do you feel?" She asked casually, waving at the bandits with a wink. Still captivated, they all waved back, too lost in the reverie of her aura to even think about harming her.

Ness leveled his blade and stepped to her side, feeling a surge of adrenaline go through him. "Better than I have in a long time." He said, and he meant it. With another roar, Ness charged ahead of Rachel and beyond her protective aura. Morris reappeared behind another one of the rear bandits and jammed his tail's stinger deep into the man's neck, laughing as another fool fell to the ground, his body freezing up around him. Ness, once again snapping the thieves back into the heat of moment, caught another one off his guard and landed a slash deep across his chest, sending him to fall to the ground, dying.

Rachel simply folded her arms again, leaning her head to the side ever so slightly. She couldn't move to help fight alongside Ness, not if she valued the spell that kept her protected from the wrath of the bandits. No, as long as she did not act against them, they would continue to either ignore her or become awed and subdued by her presence. And that worked well enough for her. Even now, Ness was engaging the remaining bandits, and Morris was taking full advantage of their distraction, jamming that dangerous paralyzing venom of his into every poor soul he could muster. In the end, Rachel realized, more of the bandits were going to end up helpless than dead.

She smiled at that. "Rosequeen, did you guide me to these three?" She asked quietly. Ness grunted from a glancing slash of a longsword across his sword arm, but stubbornly refused to back down. Rachel lifted a hand up and reached back into her spirit, drawing out more of the magical energies she gained every day. Ness visibly relaxed as the sparkling motes descended on him again, and the wicked cut along his arm healed up. With another roar, Ness charged on.

Rachel only smiled again, caught up in the moment. By her strength, Ness would stay alive. And she knew they would win.

She only hoped Marik was so fortunate.

* * *

><p>Rachel needn't have worried at all. No sooner had Marik got in range of the tent with the captives than Ness had begun his tirade; one fool had run out with his sword drawn and gone right by Marik, not noticing the towering giant in black at all. Slightly amused, Marik had nonetheless let out a small growl and slashed a sleeved hand across the air, hurling two green magical bolts. They struck the thief in the back and dropped him dead where he fell, overcome by the blow. The second, which Marik knew to be inside, chose to remain inside.<p>

_**Morris, are you busy at the moment?**_

_ And that sorry fool makes five…Eh? Oh, Marik. Kind of. Why?_

_**I need your eyes.**_

_ Good grief. You can't do a thing without me, can you?_

_**Well, I'd prefer to NOT get shot in the stomach with a crossbow, if he's carrying one…**_

_There's nobody in that tent with a crossbow. Relax, Marik. Let me do my job and help out Ness. Now go be a hero! I'll come join you when it's time to free them._

Marik rolled his eyes inside of his hood, but didn't argue. Morris was apparently having a spot of fun paralyzing the bandits Ness Benson and Rachel were engaged with. Taking a moment to begin the growl for his reliable magical bolts once again, Marik ducked inside of the tent, his eyes scanning.

Even in the relative darkness, he could make out every detail, including the thief which had been waiting beside the tent flap. The man landed a blow deep into the upper part of Marik's right arm that cut deep. Marik let out a pained grunt, feeling his head begin to swim from the ferocious strike. Still, he stubbornly refused to lose his concentration, and loosed his attack into the man's stomach with his left hand. The thief managed a brief look of surprise before the magical salvo blasted him backwards against the fabric of the tent. Moaning weakly, he tried to pick himself up, doggedly refusing to give up.

Injured and in no mood for more of a fight from the stubborn rogue, Marik straightened out his left arm and blasted off another blue freezing ray from his oversized sleeve. It struck and expanded in the back of the man's throat, having passed by his open lips by a stroke of luck. The man clawed at his neck, choking on ice before finally falling dead. Marik felt weak from the surprise attack mustered by the remaining bandit guard, and slumped to the ground beside his expired foe.

_**Morris…How goes it out there?**_

_Great! We're almost done mopping up out here._

_**That's…That's good. When you get the chance, I need you in here.**_

_…Boss, are you all right?_

_**I'm hurt.**_ Came Marik's hesitant mental reply. He could feel his blood draining out of the horrible wound in his arm, but didn't raise an arm to clamp down on it. He couldn't…not while the prisoners all sitting nearby and tied up watched him with gawking eyes.

"My gracious!" One of the better dressed prisoners gaped. "Lad, are you all right?"

"Of course he's not all right." Another man grumbled with a shake of his head. "How would you feel if you had your arm stabbed?"

"He probably hit an artery." Another one commented sadly. "Blast it. Mage, did you come here to try and rescue us?"

"Aha!" The yet unnoticed fat prisoner, better dressed than any of them but just as soiled said, his chubby redfaced cheeks brightening. "It was my family! They must have heard of my plight and sent a band of heroes to save me from this injustice!"

_No…Bad?_

_**I…**_ Marik mustered, before his arms dropped to his sides.

_Hold on! We're coming!_ Came Morris' mental shriek.

Footsteps raced from outside, and soon Rachel, Ness, and Morris were all inside the tent as well. Eyes wide open and worried, Rachel knelt down beside Marik. "By the goddess, no! Hold on, Marik. This won't take long…"

She reached to push up his sleeve to reach the exposed area, but a quick-thinking Morris fluttered in front of her wandering fingers. "No!" Morris yelped, his eyes wide. "You can't just…Can't you heal him without looking?"

Rachel blinked at the request, but nodded, remembering what Ness had told her shortly before the skirmish. "I can. Please, Morris, move. I've got to save him."

Grunting softly, the imp hovered aside, perching on Marik's undamaged shoulder and watching intently. Rachel lowered her hands above the increasing dark spot of his upper sleeve, closing her eyes and channeling her healing focus into him. A few sparkling motes and a quick exhalation of breath later, Rachel pulled back, glancing into Marik's hood. "Please, Marik. Can you hear me?"

The Sorceror stirred, amazed at how quickly the wound had faded, and how easily he snapped back into focus. Rachel's blue eyes looked at him again. This time, he noticed, not in fear or terror. The worry was still there, but it was a concern marked for his well being.

"I'm fine." Morris spoke up, relieved as Marik's words came through strong as ever. "Better than fine. Just what did you do?"

The girl beamed at the mage, still sitting on the ground looking helpless. "I healed you." She blinked a few times, then bowed her face down, her smile vanishing. "Forgive me."

The imp and Sorceror blinked at the same time. "For what?"

"For what I said to you." The girl answered, looking at him. "I didn't know…Ness told me why you dress as you do. Had I known that, I would not have been so quick to judge you." Her blue eyes stared into the depth of his hood. "I know what it's like to be judged by your appearance, Marik."

The imp slowly nodded his head, then walked down Marik's arm and looked up at her.

"Maybe I was a little hasty, too. But we'll have time for apologies later. For now, I only want to know one thing. Are you still afraid of me?"

Some of the things Marik could do might still surprise her…but there was no fear left in her heart. Rachel felt Calyssa's greatest teaching echo through her, and she shook her head. "No."

Marik couldn't still the voice in the back of his mind, a nagging doubt which had always been there.

_**This time, you mean.**_

Morris smiled at Rachel's remark, oblivious to Marik's hidden thought. He hopped up onto her shoulder as they all stood up again. "I think he needed to hear that." He whispered quietly, prompting a giggle from Rachel as his big ears tickled the side of her neck. She playfully swatted him off and turned around to Ness.

Their leader was already making short work of untying the captives, who looked up to them in appreciation and gratefulness. Ness pulled his dagger away from the last of the cut bonds and stood up. "I'm Ness Benson. We've come here to save you."

The fat man stood up, smoothing out his fur trappings. "And the bandits?"

Morris grinned at them all. "Either dead or paralyzed. We caught them off guard."

One of the other men rubbed at his sore wrists, chafed from the ropes. "How did you know to come looking for us?" He asked curiously.

Ness glanced back to Marik and Morris. "My friend here…Well, I suppose you'd say he's the one responsible for picking up the irregularity that led us here."

"I don't care for thieves who deface the good name of Weyveliste's priests." Morris said, speaking for Marik once again. The imp furrowed his brow and glanced at them all, most nondistinct in their dress. "Speaking of which…As we've been led to believe, there are five Vagabonds being held captive here."

Five of the prisoners stepped forward, and the one in front nodded. "Aye, that'd be us. Reginald Bartress, one of the Traveler's own at your service."

Morris folded his arms. "All the same, we'd like to make sure. Would you be willing to face a test, sir?"

The elder man shrugged at that, scratching at his head. "It depends, I suppose. What's the test?"

"Just complete this prayer." The little devil said stonily. "_The road is long…"_

The faces of the five men before them brightened, and all in unison, they spoke with a warm smile. "Let us walk together."

Morris grinned another one of his large grins and nodded to Ness. "That's right. These are the missing priests of the Traveler before us."

There was much laughter and celebration to that, as Ness and the others ventured out of the cramped tent to examine their former captors.

It had turned out to be a wonderful day after all.

* * *

><p>There had been eleven captives held in the bandit's camp. Of those, five had been the Vagabonds that Marik and Rachel had urged Ness to come save. One other was a landed noble from the kingdom of the Mandrake Shores to the east, on his way home after a vacation in Samael's Lands. Two more were his bodyguards. The remaining three, like their rescuers, were adventurers who had been caught unawares by the insidious plot. It took a few hours for the prisoners to recollect their stolen goods and clothing, but they eventually all met back at the camp to take stock of events, and to thank their heroes.<p>

"Indescribable. Simply indes_cribable._" The fat noble, introduced as Duke Aeryn Fisch bemoaned, fanning himself. "The horrors these…these brigands put me through!" He huffed. "I hope that they will be dealt with most severely, in a fashion befitting those of such meager stature!"

The head priest of the Traveler's entourage, Reginald Bartress, folded his arms sternly as he looked over the bound and gagged bandits they surrounded. "Oh, don't worry, my lord. We do not look favorably upon those who threaten the road, and even less on those who would harm the road's servants. These fellows, and the bunch still waiting an hour's walk from here, will be seen to. You have no need to worry about that." The other four priests all had glaring expressions of untold rage, and the surviving bandits paled and shrunk in on each other.

One of the three adventurers, a half-elf with his bow safely returned across his back, smiled to Ness' band. "You don't know how thankful we are. You saved us. They were planning on ransoming us all off to get more money."

"Oh, it was horrible. Horrible!" Duke Fisch moaned again. "I was beginning to waste away!"

Rachel took one look at his portly stature and had to muffle a giggle. It came off as a cough, though it didn't do much to explain the half-smile behind her fingers.

Ness nodded to them all, smiling as he found himself stumbling over the realization that they'd all survived. "Well, we're just glad to help out."

"Nonsense!" The Duke huffed, reaching for his retrieved money pouch. "You have delivered unto me and my men our freedom, and I will not stand to have such bravery forgotten." Smiling broadly, though seeming constantly out of breath, the Duke pulled out a copious amount of gold coins and piled them into the hands of a startled Ness. "For freeing a grateful noble, my valiant heroes, I grant you this boon. Pray, accept it with good cheer."

Ness smiled at the gesture and nodded. "My thanks, milord."

Duke Fisch chuffed and waved Ness off, waddling back to his men.

Morris chuckled at the sight, reaching out to Marik.

_Just like a noble…They have to be in control, don't they?_

_**If he's going to throw money at us for just doing what comes naturally, who am I to argue with his need for authority?**_ The Sorceror thought back.

One of the other adventurers in the party of three, a man in leather armor, crossed his arms. "Are you sure there isn't anything we could do to thank you either?"

Ness chanced a look back to Rachel and Marik, who were standing by a small pile of goods and coins that none of the freed captives had claimed. Morris' eyes in particular were gleaming towards three magical scrolls lying atop the pile. Smiling, Ness shook his head. "Oh, I think we'll manage just fine."

The head Vagabond pursed his lips for a moment, then cleared his throat. "While I plan to give you all Weyveliste's highest blessings when we leave, I think there might be something else we can offer to you all." His eyes went up to meet Rachel's. "Well, something for you, in particular."

Rachel blinked at that. "Me?" She replied, curious. The priest smiled at her.

"I saw you healing your tall friend over there in the tent…you worked with great skill, and an even greater strength. I felt it, and you left me a little in awe." The man laughed in self-depreciation. "Were that I could summon up healing as well as you." He pulled off a small leather pouch from his waist and opened it; opened it impossibly wide and jammed his arm deep into it in just the same impossible manner, Ness noticed, until Morris spoke up.

"Say, that's a magically enchanted bag you have there, isn't it?"

Reginald the priest smiled as he continued to rustle his hand inside. "It does wonders for storing all the things we collect in our travels." He paused his hand and smiled wider. "And here's what I'm looking for."

Out of the pouch no larger than a foot deep, the priest brought forth a wooden box the size of a wizard's spellbook and twice again as deep. "I'm thinking to myself, you wonderful angel of life, that you might be able to put this old thing to better use than a doddering old fool like me."

Rachel's eyes gleamed as she moved forward. "What is it?"

Reginald smiled at her. "It is a master's potions making kit, kept portable for a journeyman's convenience. With your healing skills, you should be able to make many fine elixirs in your travels. Perhaps they will help keep you and your friends safe some day." He lifted it over to her. "Take it with my blessings…and with all our thanks."

Ness handed over the last of the priests' stolen walking sticks. "So where will you go from here?" He asked them.

Reginald looked down sternly to the bound bandits. "First, we will be taking these charlatans to the city of Westshire for proper punishment. After that, we must continue our road. We're bound for the Roadside Temple in Korleen, to pay homage and to begin our service there."

Marik stirred at the comment, and Morris jumped off of his shoulder, flying over to look in the man's face. "The Roadside Temple, you say? Do you think you could relay a message to the Headmaster there?"

Reginald stroked at his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I'll do my best to remember it. What message shall I pass on for you then, my heroic little devil?"

Morris cracked a grin at that. "Tell the Headmaster that Marik and Morris wish him good health. And that we've found ourselves a few people to walk the road with."

Reginald smiled. "I'll be sure to let the man know." He lifted his hand up towards Ness, Rachel, and Marik, then held up his holy symbol, safely returned about his neck. "May the Traveler's road be your own, and may your dangers be few as you pass through his domain."

The nobleman sniffed at the blessing. "My good sirs, might my men and I accompany you until we reach Westshire? After this experience, I would appreciate the company."

The leader of the other party of three coughed. "I too, would be grateful if we might accompany you to Westshire…Just in case."

The Vagabonds all beamed at each other, for such blessings of eager traveling companions were rare. Ness looked back to Marik and Rachel, the girl smiling and the mage as quiet as ever, then waved them off.

"You should continue your own journey. We have our own to see to. We're in pursuit of the Grey Shadow."

The nobleman, Duke Fisch blinked at that. "Isn't he that incorrigible assassin who murdered that poor businessman in Sorvindal a few weeks ago?"

Ness was surprised to hear the comment. "Why…yes, yes he is. Why?"

"Well, from what I heard during my stay in Samael's Lands, the dangerous fellow has been reported most often making his way about the western country of Istus. Aren't you trying to chase him?"

"We are." Ness nodded. "I've been after him now for years."

The nobleman let out a guffaw at that. "Oh, how dreadfully bizarre. It seems to me then, he's simply trying to get back home." The man sighed. "Istus. Dreadful place, really. It's a country run by brigands and cutthroats. You'd do well to avoid it, if you can."

Ness harrumphed. "Not likely. But I thank you for the information, milord. You've just made our lives easier."

Morris and Marik finished packing what goods the bandits had left in their camp that didn't belong to the clerics or other former prisoners while Rachel and Ness said their farewells to the departing men. A few minutes later, the three travelers and their imp associate went off as well, continuing to move west in the waning day.

They walked side by side now along the road instead of in a line, more at ease with one another. Ness shook his head for a while before he finally sighed. "I just can't believe it."

Rachel looked at him. "Can't believe what, Ness?"

The swordsman looked at his three companions, giving a smile of relief. "That we walked out of that as well as we did. Rachel, you're a fantastic healer. And your distraction saved me, saved all of us from being overwhelmed."

The girl blushed at that. "That? That wasn't anything too special."

Ness glanced over to Marik, still smiling. "And you, you trickster. You've got some fight in you, you do. Had it not been for you, we would have been caught in their trap the same as everyone else captive in that camp."

"Like I said, Morris and I know Weyveliste's ways." Morris announced, but Ness and Rachel thought nothing of it. They were finally becoming accustomed to the unusual system of Morris speaking for Marik.

The girl touched her chin thoughtfully as they strolled along. "Yes, you do. But I've been wondering just how. And right before we left, you asked them to pass along a message to somebody they were going to meet, another priest of Weyveliste, yes?"

Marik gave a slow nod of his head and Rachel smiled. "I knew it. That's why you know so much about the priests, why you knew that obscure prayer. You're friends with the headmaster, aren't you?"

The imp smiled at that, warming up to Rachel once again. "Close, Rachel. Close. The Headmaster there is somebody we care about, but he's not our friend." Morris scratched at his head. "Before we left, Marik called him father."

Ness and Rachel exchanged a glance of surprise before the girl shook her head. "Something else I didn't know." She exhaled and looked to Marik with a straighter face. "Marik, one of the tenets of my faith is that it is a person's inner beauty that matters so much more than how they look on the outside." She gave Ness an irritated stare. "Before Ness told me about your accident when you were little, I thought you dressed like that to scare people. I didn't know you dressed that way for the opposite reason."

Marik and Morris both nodded at the same time. "Yeah." The imp muttered. "A lot of trouble can be caused just because you don't know the facts behind something. I should apologize too. We should have given you more of the benefit of the doubt. But I suppose we're a little too uptight some days."

Rachel shook her head. "You shouldn't have to be." She looked at him for a moment, then stared back to the road ahead. "So how badly were you hurt?"

"Eh?" Morris said, lifting an eyebrow. "Well, that thief stuck Marik pretty well, but your healing magics took care of that right quick…"

"No, no. Not that." The girl interrupted, blushing a bit. "When you were little. That accident that scarred you, that makes you hide in that cloak. How bad was it?"

Marik thought about it for a moment, then passed along his message. Morris lowered his head. "Bad enough. It even injured my throat, so I sound horrible when I speak." The imp smiled at Rachel. "That's why I have Morris. He's more than a familiar. He's more than a friend. He's become a part of who I am…who I've had to become to compensate."

Rachel lifted an eyebrow. "Is that why you growl when you cast? Because you can't speak?"

The Sorceror nodded. "Given enough training and enough tenacity, you can weave magic without the use of incantations. It comes easier for me, being a Sorceror." Morris looked over to Rachel. "I…I'd be glad to teach you, if you'd like."

The girl smiled. "Maybe some day. For now, though, I'm thinking I might be able to help you."

"Oh?"

She kept her face straight ahead, her hand tugging nervously on one end of her scarf. "My focus, my strength is in my healing magic. I might be able to heal your scars, allow you to take that cloak and robe of yours off, if you'd let me."

The imp bit his lip at that. "I…I appreciate the offer, Rachel. But there are some things that just can't be healed." The girl looked at him in surprise, and Morris shrugged. "It's just how it is. A lot of people have tried, my father included." That was a lie, of course. There wasn't a healing spell in all of Terrus as far as Marik knew that could alter his condition, but it was a plausible lie. And one that the girl accepted.

"I…I see."

Morris thought for a moment, then threw an idea back to Marik. The Sorceror blinked a few times, then nodded.

"But, Rachel, there is something you can do for me."

The girl looked back at him. "Yes?" She asked, her voice honest and open.

"You can be my friend." Morris said, passing on Marik's words. "That would do more to help me than anything else."

The girl positively beamed from ear to ear at that. "Of course." She said, and before Marik could do anything to stop her, she had closed the small distance between them and pulled him into a hug, burying the side of her face into his chest.

Ness looked over and lifted an eyebrow. "Well, now. That's a little unexpected!"

Marik looked distinctly uncomfortable, but Morris fell off of his shoulder, rolling along the ground and howling in laughter. "Oh, sweet nymphs and saints! Marik, you've just been hugged!"

Blushing a bit, Rachel pulled back and nodded at him. "I'm sorry if that surprised you."

Ness smiled and rubbed at his chin as he stared at them. "That's one surprise I wouldn't have minded ten years ago myself." Marik, hidden in his robes, found himself without a voice as Morris continued to laugh his head off.

"Hey boss, I wouldn't be so rigid!" Morris giggled, pulling himself up to his feet and flying up in the air, still grinning like an idiot. "Who knows the next time a pretty girl's going to give you a hug like that?"

A green hand appeared out of nowhere and gave a half-irritated swat at the imp, who dodged it easily. Still snickering, he landed on Marik's shoulder and tried to compose himself.

After a while, he finally sighed and took on a more placid demeanor. "Well, then. We did a good thing today. We've kept the road safe, and we didn't leave empty-handed either."

Rachel beamed, hefting her backpack and the potions brewing kit inside. "No, we didn't. The next time we set down by a sizable water supply, I'll be trying this out. It's been a while since I've been able to brew healing elixirs."

Ness lifted an eyebrow. "You already know how to make potions?"

"Of course." The girl said, beaming with pride. "But until I got this, I couldn't make any here. All the potionsmaking equipment I'd ever used is back in my home temple…a world away, and far out of my reach. I'd wager the techniques are much the same here as there."

Marik glanced over to Ness, and the imp tilted his head to the side. "Rachel got herself a piece of equipment that will eventually let her keep us alive even longer. You got some more exact information on where the Grey Shadow keeps his home, and Marik here made off with a few arcane scrolls they'd swiped sometime in the past. All in all, I'd say this proves that doing good deeds sometimes does come with rewards."

"I suppose it does." Ness finally said, tucking his green cloak around him. "Outside of the gold coins that the Duke left us, what else did we take as the spoils from this venture?"

"About one hundred silver, some fake trinkets, your basic field rations, and this." Morris answered, just as the green Sorceror's hand reached inside of Marik's haversack and dragged out a small circlet.

Ness frowned as the magical hand floated it over to him. "Is it enchanted?"

"I checked. No, it's not." Came Marik's words through Morris again. "But it did look valuable."

Ness turned it over in his hands, examining the ornate silver and gold that it was composed of. His eyes caught on one detail, though…

On the inside of the band, engraved so fine as to almost be missed, was the emblem of the kingdom of Sorvindal, and the name of its owner.

Dunsten Carmichael.

"By the gods…" Ness gaped, not believing their good fortune. "This…this belonged to the man in Sorvindal that the Grey Shadow murdered."

Rachel straightened up at that. "But that's not possible. That would mean that…"

Ness finished the thought, newfound purpose going through him. "The Grey Shadow must have passed through that bandit camp sometime before, and left it, for some sort of payment."

"You don't think those bandits could have stolen it from him?" Morris prodded.

Ness shook his head. "You haven't seen the Shadow. Believe me, if he didn't want to give it up, he wouldn't have." The swordsman looked out to the road ahead of them, pursing his lips in thought. "And that means we can't be that far behind him."

Rachel and Marik looked at each other as Ness began to jog a little faster.

It seemed they were back on the trail once again.

* * *

><p><em>Ten Miles Away<em>

It had been a trinket; a useless bauble, really, not worth more than two handfuls of gold coins. He had been glad to part ways with it. He had long since eliminated the man it had belonged to, and it was something that slowed him down. That, and it tended to clink around and make noise. The bandits he had encountered in camp were suspicious at first when he appeared, asking for a place to rest. They had taken a different tone after he had outfought their leader and proven how dangerous he was. The silver and gold circlet only sealed the deal and won them to indifference. A few hours later, he had left their encampment and slipped off in the daylight, bitterly cursing the sun above as he tightened his opaque clothes around him.

The Grey Shadow was growing tired of this chase. He knew it was ongoing as well. It wasn't so much a genuine knowing as much as it was a feeling, a reaction somewhere in his gut that told him that the Cursed Blade was still out there somewhere, still doggedly chasing him west. One of the questions he had was if the swordsman had come alone, or if he had enlisted more help.

Underneath the cold iron faceplate that hid his face from the gaze of both sunlight and the few poor souls he encountered, the assassin managed a brief smirk. If the fool had found help…Well, that would have slowed him down a bit, the Shadow thought. Still, it was clear that an ambush would not work against him anymore. No, those rogue orcs had failed to eliminate the man who had survived against his machinations the longest. Another pack would fail just the same.

He looked down to the head of some poor farmer's daughter; he had caught her on the edge of a wheat field, picking out the weeds and sprinkling nourishing minerals over the soil. He had struck without warning, and with no mercy. She hadn't even had the time to cry out before her pretty little head was cut from her body.

Sitting on a log some distance from that field, the Grey Shadow finished his meal and then stared to the lifeless head he held up by its long black hair. Surprised green eyes stared back at him, and he smiled, if for no other reason than to simply do so.

He'd seen so many faces over the years…the best faces, he had come to realize, were those that death froze in place. This girl, for instance, had had that rare combination of surprise, alarm, and naivete. She couldn't have been more than fifteen years old, not like that mattered much anymore. The openmouthed look of surprise glanced back at him, and the assassin chuckled back. Perhaps he was leaving a trail that Ness might be able to follow. Then again, perhaps not. These were simple people he struck out at. Simple folk, unaware of his legend or his presence. And just as they began to wonder what happened to their loved ones, he was gone, nothing more than a whisper.

Sighing as he realized another meal had come to an end, the assassin reattached his mask in the dim sunset and then stuffed the head of the farmer's child into the hollow of the log he had been resting on.

He stood up, gauging his position with a heightened mental focus, gaining his bearings. Istus was still many miles away, and until he reached that land of larceny and free opportunity, he was still in danger. Not from any of the locals, no.

But from the Cursed Blade, and whatever forces he now dragged behind him. If there were some way to eliminate him, to outsmart him once and for all…

The assassin paused on that thought. With a frown, he drew out his map. His eyes scanned over the outline, then narrowed in admiration. Oh, it was a devilish plan. It just might work, too. All he had to do was make a brief appearance at the nearest town that went by the main highway…

His claw scraped across the parchment, trailing a course from where he was to the road, and then up the sloping northward way. The nearest town was only about a three hour run from where he was, and it seemed to be relatively small. He could maneuver his way in, scare some of the locals, and then get 'chased' out towards the nearby Fenderson's Pass. It was a spiraling trail that dove into the tunnels and caverns beneath Crannogh Heights' Western Hills, and came out on the other side into a quiet section of Samael's Lands. From there, it would be about two week's travel to reach Istus…and once he was there, he would be home free.

As for the Cursed Blade, and whatever help he had? Oh, they'd hear of his exploits, and the Grey Shadow had no doubt they'd come through the Pass. But once they hit those tunnels, they would cease to be a thorn in his side.

Nothing in those caverns were all too hospitable to surface dwellers.

Allowing himself a long and low chuckle, the Grey Shadow tucked his map away and took off in a dash, his boots giving him a sudden burst of speed as he willed them to activate. His run would get him there long before the Cursed Blade and his allies.

Little did he know that his quarry was closer than he would have liked, and only for the grace of a few hours had he avoided them.


	5. Four: The Deep Men Fear

**Four: The Deep Men Fear**

Ness and the others had not marched on throughout the night, as much as he would have liked to. They had set up camp about twenty minutes after the sun dipped below the horizon, and eaten a meal on the rations and cured meats they had taken as spoils from the thieves' camp. The day after was just more walking along the road, though it had finally taken a distinct northern track to its path.

Ness and Marik struggled the most, carrying the bulk of the supplies taken from the bandits. Rachel led the way, staring down at Marik's map as Morris rested on her shoulder. This the imp did simply because Marik was struggling with his own load and had no room for the foot-high devil to rest on.

Rachel brushed a strand of her brown hair back, careful to not hit Morris. "According to this, we should be approaching a town today called Sanderson's Falls."

"Sanderson's Falls?" Ness huffed, readjusting the bag. "You don't say. I went there once when I was younger…it's a nice place, quiet."

Morris looked over to the swordsman. "Quiet? But isn't it along the main road going up into Samael's Lands?"

Ness gave the imp a smile. "Yes, but they just never bother to pay much attention to travelers."

Rachel giggled as Morris grumbled a nonsensical string of gibberish, reaching a hand up to scratch at his ear. "Oh, cheer up, Morris. I think we'll be stopping there, won't we Ness?"

"Aye." The swordsman said, wincing again as his load went out of alignment. "We took a great deal from those highwaymen, and the spoils will fetch some coin in town. That, and I'll be glad to get rid of the dead weight."

Marik struggled just as much, but kept quiet, allowing Morris to keep to his own conversation. The imp stood up and stretched, then unfolded his wings. "Thanks for the rest, Rachel."

The Calyssan smiled and turned her head about just enough to look at him out of the corner of her eye. "It's no problem, Morris." The imp took off, flying high into the air and turning circles above them. Rachel offered a smile back to Marik, then rolled the map back up and tucked it into a satchel she had taken from the bandit's stores. It hung from her side, and gave her a place to put her gear she wanted to keep close at hand.

Ness had to grin at the girl. She had brightened back up again, in comparison to yesterday. Settling with Marik and their outstanding good deeds of the day before was done her a world of good. It made the swordsman feel younger, just being around the vivacious young woman. And Marik, for as much as one could tell, seemed to be in high spirits as well. Morris was the most telling, of course. He'd been cracking jokes all morning.

Ness shook his head, coming back to his senses. Oh, they'd lived. They'd passed that day. His smile lessened when he began to wonder if today might turn out differently.

If his curse might come down on them once again, and ruin the happiness.

His sudden shift didn't go unnoticed by Morris, who came down and hung from the back of his cloak. "Say, Ness…why are you so down in the mouth all of a sudden? You should be feeling happy."

The swordsman shook his head, not able to turn around to look at Morris. "You're right, of course. I just find myself occupied…With thoughts."

"The Grey Shadow?" The familiar pressed.

Ness' blue eyes were quiet. "Yes." He said simply. "The Grey Shadow. And just what the future will bring."

Morris chuffed at that. "Well, don't worry too much. Don't dwell on the things you can't control. Just focus on the now…and walk your road as you see fit. That's all any of us can do."

"I suppose." Ness offered quietly. Morris paused, as if to say something else, but finally shrugged and jumped back into the air, taking up on his wings again.

Rachel yawned, stretching her arms above her head. "I'm looking forward to taking a break, myself." She dropped a hand down to the satchel at her side and patted a few small glass bottles she had taken from the bandit's stores. "I want to see if I can create healing potions out here as well as I could back home."

Marik, walking beside her with his usual stoic posture, looked down with his darkened hood. Morris was nowhere nearby, having flown up high above them to glance at their surroundings. Rachel looked back at him, trying to sense what Marik wished he could say.

"Can you talk?" She prodded. The Sorceror offered a weak shrug of his shoulders. "Maybe, you mean?" Marik's hood bounced in the affirmative. "You _can _talk, but you just don't want to." Another nod. "Because of how you sound, by that accident." Marik nodded one last time.

The young woman looked up at him, harrumphing with a half smile on her face. "Would you ever talk to me?"

Marik thought about that for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. Maybe, he seemed to say. Maybe.

The girl sighed and looked ahead of them. "I suppose I'll have to stick to yes and no questions, then." She lifted up one of her empty bottles, holding it so the sunlight could refract through it. "Marik, have you ever made anything before?"

The Sorceror considered that for a moment, then nodded.

"Like a potion? Or do you enchant things?" No, and no, from two firm headshakes.

Rachel blinked at him. "So what do you make?"

Marik growled for a moment, and then the rest of the glass vials in her pouch floated up and began to dance about in front of them as they walked along. Surprised as they danced in glimmering motes of light, Rachel's eyes came alight with a laugh she gave voice. "Of course!" She said, shaking her head. "You make magic." She kept grinning as the bottles swayed back and forth around them, playfully grabbing out towards them, only to have Marik flex a finger underneath his long sleeves to make them bounce away just at the right time.

Up above, Morris glanced down with a knowing smile that nobody else could see. He could feel Marik's good mood seeping into him, and he reciprocated it back. True enough, Rachel had guessed right. Marik did create magic. But more than that, he had created a smile for her.

And with sudden clarity, Morris realized that Marik thought that to be some of the most powerful magic of all.

* * *

><p><em>The Town of Sanderson's Falls, Crannogh Heights<em>

_One and a Half Weeks after Departure from Westshire_

Gregory Lackwend considered himself the pre-eminent businessman of Sanderson's Falls. He was the proud owner of his own general goods store on the south end of town, after all, and he'd never had an unsatisfied customer. That and the sign that said "trade-ins welcome: Will buy used equipment!" had kept him well suited for the adventurers who came through their quiet little town. It was midday, though, and he hadn't seen a spot of business all morning. Disappointed, he was just about to close his shop for lunch when he spotted a small band of people coming up the road.

"Oh ho, what do we have here…" The merchant mused, rubbing at his chin. As they came closer, he could make out a man in a green cloak with a sword at his side, a somewhat taller…Well, he couldn't tell what exactly the second figure was, hidden in that black ensemble resembling the shade of death. The last of their group was a young girl, smiling to herself as she pushed her long brown hair back out of her eyes again.

The green cloaked man came up to his door and opened it, causing a bell attached to the frame to jingle. "Welcome sir, a thousand welcomes!" The merchant said, clapping his hands together. "My name is Gregory Lackwend, owner of this establishment. Have you come with a need to acquire goods?"

"Close." Came the man's reply, with an artful wink. He set down his two heavy bags he had been carrying and exhaled. "We actually came to sell today."

Mr. Lackwend's face fell a bit before the man cleared his throat. "And if you have them, I think I could use a dagger or two." The green-cloaked man extended an arm. "Name's Benson. Ness Benson. What do you say, Mr. Lackwend? Shall we do business?"

The merchant sighed, but nodded wearily. "Aye, and then I'll be going to eat." He looked at them all. "Say, there's a lodge not far from here, a little ways in town. It's run by my sister and her husband. One of the best in all of the Falls here, I'll have you know. Once we conclude our business, you're welcome to join me for lunch."

Ness smiled at the idea. "Sounds good. What's the special today?"

"Roast." Came the dreamy voice of Morris, safely hidden within Marik's hood again. "Slow-fired…well-seasoned…prime roast. I can smell it from here."

Rachel offered a weak smile as the proprietor glanced over to the tall figure in black. "That does sound wonderful. We've been eating very simply these last several days."

Ness began to unpack a few of the bags on the counter and looked over to Marik and Rachel. "Why don't you go on ahead and get us some rooms at that lodge? We'll stay a night before pressing on." As an afterthought, he tossed a few silver from the bag at Rachel. "There. If that doesn't cover it, tell me when Mr. Lackwend and I get there."

Rachel nodded and looked up to Marik. "Well, shall we go then?" She asked brightly. The towering mage gave a nod of his head, and Morris laughed. "Hey, if it involves eating anything but those stale crackers Marik feeds me, I'm all for…OW!" The voice cut off when a glowing green hand came up and slapped the side of the hood. Quickly, Marik ducked out of sight and down the street, Rachel trailing after him.

The store merchant looked at Ness curiously. "You have strange companions, Mr. Benson."

The swordsman laughed. "Yes, don't I? So, let's talk. I'm thinking a haul like this should bring in…Oh, about sixty gold dragons."

The merchant frowned and ran his hands over the cookware, trinkets, and slipshod weapons the bandits had been using. "Mm, I'd say more like forty myself. But Mr. Benson, before we go too much farther, I just thought I'd inform you, I accept trade-ins, but only for store credit." He motioned around. "I'm more than willing to accept these spoils, as long as you're willing to use the money towards the purchase of items from my own selection."

Ness frowned. "Any chance I might get you to change your mind about that?"

The merchant gave him a look of apology. "Tell you what…I'll up the store credit to fifty gold."

"Sixty."

"Fifty-five." Mr. Lackwend said, but before Ness could object, he waved his arm around the store again, lined with clothes, dried foodstuffs, gear, equipment, and even weapons. "Come now. Surely there's something in all of this that you need on your travels."

Ness rubbed his chin. "Do you have silvered daggers?"

"They're not asked for as often, but I have one that's more of a dirk, if that suits your fancy." The merchant suggested. "Anything else? The dirk will only run you twenty pieces."

Ness glanced up and down the walls of the small armaments section. His eyes paused over by the projectiles. Pursing his lips, he began to think about their last fight.

His hand pointed up to a particular weapon. "That looks particularly effective. Where did you get that from?"

"A gnome merchant traded it to me, in exchange for some alchemical powders." The merchant said proudly. "It suits the smaller folk well. You know, for those who don't have a full-grown man's strength."

Ness looked to the man with an unusual smile. "I think I know somebody who might appreciate having it. Is it for sale?"

"The dirk and that…and I'll even throw in a small quiver and two extra boxes of ammunition for it. We'll call the deal even. Will that work for you?"

Ness took a moment to quietly appraise the weapon in question, but eventually nodded his head. "We have an accord." He concluded. The merchant smiled.

"Wonderful. Coincidentally, where did you get all this?"

"Oh, we took it from a bandit camp."

"You took it…What?"

Ness smirked at the befuddled merchant. "Don't worry, Mr. Lackwend. We're not thieves. But we did stop a few."

"I…I see." Gregory Lackwend murmured, shaking his head. "Well then. Let's just wrap those up for you, and then we can get to lunch, eh?"

Ness walked over to the wall and reached for the weapons he had purchased. The dirk, he thought as he tied it to his swordbelt, was of particularly fine craftsmanship.

"If there's any left." Ness commented to the man with a wink.

Merchant Lackwend laughed as he collected the trade-in goods back into their bags. "Are you saying that your friends are going to eat my sister out of house and home?"

"Not all of them." Ness concluded thoughtfully. "Just one."

* * *

><p>If it had been a curious sight to the patrons in the lodge in question to see a foot-high devil leap out of the hood of the tall stranger, they found it just as shocking to see how much he could eat.<p>

"Mmm….This is…fantastic!" Morris said between enormous bites of the roast they'd ordered. Marik looked distinctly uncomfortable as his six-fingered Sorceror's hand floated up a cup of unfermented grape juice inside of his hood. Whatever small slurping the Sorceror produced was covered over by the frenzied meal of his companion.

Rachel looked up from the cup of tea that the woman in charge had brought her, smiling apologetically. "You'll have to forgive our little friend. It's been a long time since he's had a decent meal…"

"Apparently." The middle-aged woman nodded slowly, a soup ladle in one hand. "Have ye been starving him?"

Morris slurped down the thimbleful of water they'd given him and shook his head. "Some days, I wondered. You know how tired you can get of hardtack? Damn tired!" He ran a tiny clawed hand along the medium sized cut of meat they had given him. "But I come here, and an angel saves me!" He gave a loving glance up to the woman with the ladle, who laughed at the imp's exuberance.

"Aah, think nothing of it. We've got your rooms prepared for ye, when you're all ready."

Morris straightened up a bit, sighing. "All right, fine." He grumbled, throwing a dirty look Marik's way. "I don't want to get sick, I suppose." He looked back to the innkeeper. "Is it all right if we finish our meals up in our rooms?"

The slightly frumpy woman waved the ladle at the imp warningly. "Aye, but if ye spill anything on me good clean floors, I'll be taking it out of your hide, ye little trickster."

Marik nodded appreciatively and picked up his plate with his conjured Sorceror's hand, then calmly walked upstairs. Morris fluttered over to Rachel for a moment, sighing as he patted his belly. "Gosh, that was good. How come you didn't eat much?"

Rachel sipped at her tea. "I prefer smaller meals throughout the day, Morris."

"Huh." The imp grumbled, scratching at his head. "You should eat three square meals a day. Will you be making potions later?"

Rachel nodded. "You and Marik are welcome to stop by this afternoon and take a peek if you'd like." Morris cracked a grin at that.

"You know, I just might." He blinked a few times, then pointed a thumb at himself. "Me personally. As for Marik, there's no guarantee."

Rachel put her cup down. "Is he tired?"

"Oh, no worse than any of us." Morris said, scratching his chin. "But he hasn't had a chance to stare at those scrolls yet. He thinks he might be able to learn a trick or two from them." Morris chuckled. "Boy, I remember how excited he was when he learned to shape magic into armor. He's always been like that, though."

"Oh?" Rachel inquired, tilting her head to the side. "Like what?"

Morris looked at her. "Shy. Quiet." He lifted a hand. "_Except_ when there's some new magic trick to learn. That's one of the only times I've ever seen him relax enough to stop being so self-conscious." Rachel looked a little crestfallen at that, and Morris sighed, sensing the frown she didn't give.

The winged devil stroked at his chin for a moment, then chuckled. "Tell you what. I'll see if I can't convince him to drop by today."

Rachel beamed at the social imp. "It's magic after all, isn't it? Even if it is just healing potions…"

"I think I know what you're trying to do." Morris said to her, gaining a serious look. "You're trying to get him to open up, aren't you?"

Rachel nodded. "Is that a bad thing?"

Morris drew in a long breath and let it out a long moment later. "I don't really know." The imp confessed. "When we set out, we told each other we were the only people we could rely on. The only ones we could trust. Then he decided we had to take on a mission to earn some money for our trip…And here we are."

Rachel leaned her head on an arm. "Morris…just what were the two of you going towards?"

"He's looking for something." Morris answered calmly, a little surprised he was being this open. He shook his head for a moment. "I must be going crazy telling you all this. We didn't even tell Ness when we joined up."

The girl blinked her soft blue eyes at the imp, not afraid of his beady black pupils. "Just what is he looking for, Morris? Some great item of power?"

The imp shook his head again. "No. Nothing like it. Something that's far more precious…at least to him." He gave one last nod of his head. "The life worth living."

Morris gave a quick bow of farewell, then flew up the steps to the bedrooms above, leaving Rachel to ponder over that.

The female innkeeper came by and refilled her tea. "Lass, you keep strange company, you do. I don't think I've ever seen a creature like your little friend there."

"His name's Morris. He's an imp." Rachel answered pleasantly. "And believe me, he's a good friend to have around."

"Well, just be thankful he isn't a pet." The woman sniffed. "We don't allow those here."

It was at that moment that Ness came strolling in, laughing at a joke told by the Merchant Lackwend. The innkeeper looked up, her face brightening. "Gregory, you old codger! Finally come by to have a bite to eat, have you?"

The merchant clasped Ness on the shoulder. "Mr. Benson, I'd like you to meet my very lovely, and very married sister, Elisha Sandorn."

Ness bowed to the lady. "Ness Benson, my dear. I sent my two comrades ahead of me to reserve our rooms." He glanced over to Rachel and smiled. "I see they succeeded."

Rachel smiled back at him. "Marik and Morris already went upstairs. Despite Morris' best efforts, there's still some roast left."

Mrs. Sandorn glowered at them. "Aye, that flying bat of yours eats like a horse, he does."

Ness rubbed at the back of his head. "Well, I'll pay any extra that Morris ate off. Considering all he's done to help us out, I owe him a decent meal, if not more."

"So just what exactly is your purpose in coming through our fair town?" Merchant Lackwend asked Ness, as his sister dropped two more trivets of roast on the table before them.

"We're in pursuit of a wanted man." Ness said, taking a bite and savoring the flavor. "He's an assassin known as the Grey Shadow. Our sources have told us he's making way towards Istus."

The merchant and his sister exchanged a worried glance at that, then the innkeeper put her soup ladle on the table, folding her arms in her apron. "Mister Benson…Just what does this Grey Shadow look like, exactly?"

"He dresses in woven padded mesh of black, and wears a skeletal mask that covers his entire face." Ness answered, lowering his fork. Addressing her in a new light, he frowned. "Why?"

Her brother, Merchant Lackwend answered before she did. Setting down his cup of water, he met Ness's questioning stare with a cold glower.

"Because a man matching that description scared the living daylights out of half of Sanderson's Falls early this morning…Wrecked a few fruit carts up on the northern side of town, just caused a general hullabaloo."

Ness stood up, his sword at his side. "Where did he go?" He demanded sharply.

The merchant blinked at that. "Well…I don't rightly know. I imagine that if you went up to the north side, or asked the town guard, they'd be able to help you better than I could."

Ness looked down to Rachel, who stared back at him questioningly. He considered the news for a few long moments before sighing and sitting back down. "I suppose after lunch, then, I'll be talking to the town guard. After that, I'll hopefully know which direction we need to go. Then we'll set out in the morning after him."

Rachel frowned. "Why aren't you demanding we go after him now?"

Ness tried to ignore the beginnings of a headache as he pressed a hand to his forehead. "Because, Miss Ashbury, the rigors of the road weigh just as heavily on me as they do on you and Marik." Ness shuffled around in his bag, still talking. "And we'll need at least one day to relax and prepare ourselves for what's ahead."

Rachel blinked. "What are you looking for in there?" She pointed to his bag.

Out of it, Ness pulled the weapon that he had purchased with the remainders of their bandit supply trade-in. He set it on the table in front of her. "Something for you." He said, reaching for the extra boxes of ammunition and the small quiver. "I thought you could use a real weapon, so I got you something."

It was a light crossbow, the delicate wheels and pulleys indicating gnomish design; the wood was a stained and finished oak, sturdy and strong. The grip was meant to be held in one hand. Rachel picked it up, holding it gently. It was light in her hands, and not entirely unknown. Back in the temple in Knighthold, they had spent some time on self-defense, and the different kinds of weapons one could use. Though smaller, it shared some similarities with crossbows used in The Realm.

Rachel looked up at him. "But I heal, I don't fight."

Ness looked weary as he nodded slowly. "A day may come you will have to do both, Rachel. Perhaps sooner than we know."

The young healer saw the wisdom in that. "The importance of preparation, I suppose." She mused, pulling an extra sash out of her traveling satchel and tying it around her waist. The crossbow went to the sash, taking up its place against the right side of her thigh.

Ness picked up his fork and knife, carving back into the roast with a little less vigor. "I may be gone the rest of the day. Can you and Marik take care of yourselves until tomorrow morning?"

The girl gave him a look, and despite his sudden somber demeanor, Ness cracked a smile. "Of course, of course. If you can keep an old fool like myself from dying, you can probably survive a night at a lodge."

"One would hope." Rachel mused, taking another sip of her tea.

* * *

><p>The three scrolls Marik had acquired from their raid the day before proved to be rare treasures, as far as the mage was concerned. As a Sorceror, he channeled magic through the raw ether surrounding the world. Wizards, the more numerous of mages, cast by precise formula and ritual. Scrolls allowed Marik access to a wizard's kind of magic, and spells he himself had never known or tried.<p>

The first contained two charges of a minor cantrip Marik had seen used to temporarily bolster ones' defenses against all sorts of effects. The second was a little more powerful, with three charges of a spell that conjured up a legless worktable, which hovered above the ground. The last was the most precious. It had a single charge, sadly, but it was the most powerful of the lot. Once unleashed, it would summon forth a powerful vibration that could shatter fragile objects and unattended glass and crystal. That one would be carefully stored away, he determined.

The work hadn't been too difficult. It was nothing compared to what it would have taken out of him to try and determine what magics an enchanted item might have. Still, he enjoyed the quiet that his room offered.

It meant he could, for the first time in a long while, exist without the hooded robe and cloak he spent all of his waking hours in. And more than that, it gave him time to write in his journal, something he sorely needed to do.

Stuck for a moment, he stared back to the first entry with a small sense of whimsy. Morris flew over and landed on the room's desk, peering over his hand.

"Whacha looking at, boss?"

_**My old journal entries. **_

The imp snorted. "Oh, that old thing again. You know, I still say that's a waste of time. Why do you even bother writing all this down? You can remember it all perfectly, you know that."

_**Yes. What's your point?**_ Marik glanced down at Morris, their eyes meeting. The imp frowned for a minute before he smiled again.

"I suppose there's more of your dad's bardic ways in you than I thought. The both of you share the same need to wax poetic about your experiences. Come on. We're not going to change the world, Marik. We're not looking to. We just want to find a place where we belong…travel the road, let it take us to the life worth living. That's it. Do you really think that what we do is going to inspire others some day?"

_**It might. You never know, my friend.**_

"I still say you're nuts." Morris grumbled. "But then, I knew that already. So go ahead, scribble away. And you might want to put in that I'm really getting sick of those crackers in the rations."

The Sorceror cracked what served as a smile for him. _**I'll do that.**_

The imp began to turn around, but paused halfway through. "Oh, that reminds me. Rachel invited us to come down and visit her in her room later today if we didn't have anything better to do."

The Sorceror was a little surprised at the gesture. _**Oh? Any particular reason why?**_

"She'll be brewing some of those healing potions she's been gushing about since she got that kit." Morris shrugged his wings. "Who knows? It involves magic. You might learn something."

Marik sighed. _**Maybe. Or maybe I'll just be uncomfortable.**_

Morris looked at him. "Uncomfortable?"

The Sorceror looked at him as if the imp was stupid, something he knew Morris clearly wasn't. _**Morris, you should know better than anyone. As long as there's something for us to focus on…something for me to do, some spell to cast…I'm fine. But beyond that, I don't know the first thing about how to interact with Ness and Rachel.**_

Morris sat down on the desk and folded his arms. "Yeah, I suppose that's more or less been my specialty." He glanced up at Marik. "Look, I'm not saying it's easy. And I'm not saying you have to. But it's not healthy to be cooped up in your room all by yourself. You need to be around others every once in a while."

Marik snorted. _**What are you now, my father?**_

"Essentially." His familiar muttered, his tail swishing angrily. "Rodian asked me to take care of you. That accounts for your mental health as well as your life." His tone softened. "Come on. She's not that horrible to be around. Is she?"

Sighing, the Sorceror could only give one response. He slipped away from the pretense of mental communication and rasped a vocal response.

_"No…No, she isn't."_

"You're not going to catch a plague from her or anything, right?"

Marik gave his tiny friend a failed frown, which ended up being a half-smile. _**Do you really want me to go and watch her make potions?**_

"I'm saying it couldn't hurt." Morris suggested, clutching onto his vest with pride. "Come on. We nearly flew off the handle once because she didn't know enough about us to not hurt your feelings. Spend some time with her. Get to know her."

Marik folded a hand across his journal. _**Doctor's orders?**_

Morris snorted at that, puffing his chest out. "Damnit Marik, I'm a familiar, not a doctor. For once, just trust me on this."

Marik rolled his eyes and raised his hands in surrender. _**Fine, fine. I'll go visit her in a few minutes. You want to go on ahead? **_

"Might as well…just to let her know you're coming."

_**She doesn't have to roll out the red carpet, you know. I'm just coming to see how she makes potions.**_ Marik waved a hand at his door and it unlocked. His magical hand appeared beside the knob and opened it, and Morris darted out with one wave to Marik.

"We'll be waiting for ya, boss. Don't stay too long." He said quickly, vanishing with a few flaps. Marik sighed and shut the door again, then forced the Sorceror's hand to lock the deadbolt once again.

His eyes went back to the journal, which was still open to the first entry inside.

_Ship's captains keep logs of where they go, and the events of note in their day. Others keep diaries to collect their thoughts and make sense of their experiences._

_ I write this journal in the hopes that it might be published at some point…Because I have a feeling, despite Morris' naysayings, that what lies ahead of us is somehow grander than anything that has been done in hundreds of years. _

_ I love the written word. Through it, I can express myself without fear. Through it, I can voice concerns, thoughts, musings, in almost every language I know._

_ Where will I be tomorrow? Far from where I was today. That's the heart of this journey I have put myself on. Keep running. Keep moving. Morris and I…We'll have to be careful. By our very appearance, we stand out of the ordinary. And out of the ordinary inevitably means trouble. Anywhere we go, we will prompt suspicion, if we stay for too long. The locals will always be like that. Still, I don't blame them._

_ I almost never talk anymore. I can't. It's too much of a risk, so my friend Morris, the tiny little imp who always seems to have a comeback, does the talking for the both of us. Even then…I have my writing. _

_ I'll hide myself in the confines of my thick cloak, and use my magical powers to facilitate communication and interaction._

_ My life may be a lonely one, with only Morris to stand beside me. I'll always have to battle my darker instincts…battle the desires I see in my nightmares, and the monster I always fear I'll become…_

_ But I'll still fight for the greater good, when I can. _

_ I will find that "Life worth living" that my mother sacrificed herself to give me._

_ And maybe…maybe some day, my name will be lauded throughout Ashra. Maybe even all of Terrus._

_ As a hero._

_ Perhaps on that day, I can finally take my hood off for the rest of my days, and let the world see me for what I am._

_ Some day._

_ -Marik_

But not today, came the unbidden thought into his intelligent mind. That, and curses in the eight languages he had studied and mastered growing up.

With a sigh borne of frustration and the knowledge that dreams weren't prone to becoming reality, Marik closed the journal and walked back over to his bed.

Once again, his inhuman hands picked up the black robe and cloak he hid himself in, and slid it over his head. Once again, he became a formless shadow.

He chanced a look into the mirror, his cold black eyes gracing over every line and curve of his monstrous face. He stared at himself for seconds on end, until he could take no more, and the pain and bitterness started to rise back up inside of him.

_Some days, I think to myself, it wouldn't matter what I did…If people knew the real me, I'd always be a monster._

Morris didn't hear the thought, because Marik hadn't sent it to him. The mage hid it in his subconscious, along with the rest of his bitter moments. His hands went back behind his head and pulled the hood up until the reflection of his monstrous visage disappeared.

A wraith without a face. Just as it always was. Marik Observant turned away from the mirror and walked towards his door, his six-fingered Sorceror's hand leading the way.

Perhaps he could immerse himself into the intricacies of potions making.

That would be something to wax poetic about.

* * *

><p>Ness determined that the town guard he was speaking with was well-meaning, albeit not particularly helpful. The constable on duty scratched at his chin as the two stood outside the ruined carts on the north end of the village.<p>

"Well, I s'pose that he just wanted to cause a ruckus." The younger man yawned. He motioned to the merchants who were still trying to rebuild their displays. "Sure, the fella caused some damage, but nothing that couldn't be repaired with a little work."

Ness frowned. "It just doesn't make any sense. The Grey Shadow's cleaner than this." He turned and looked at the man. "There haven't been any murders, right?"

"No, not that I can recall." The constable drawled. "Come to think of it, we haven't had anything worse than a bar scuffle in two years now. This was a little unexpected."

The swordsman harrumphed, his mind searching for an answer. "It goes against his pattern. He's an assassin, he goes unseen and does his grisly work in silence. The most anyone ever sees or knows of him is the headless bodies he leaves after he passes through."

"Ugh, that sounds horrible." The constable paled.

"Consider yourselves lucky he chose not to go through with his usual offenses." Ness muttered, still thinking. "But why…Why would he do this? There wasn't a job here for him. And he always does his best to avoid being seen."

"Maybe he got lost?"

"Doubtful." Ness muttered. "There's just something I can't put my finger on."

"Well, if it's any help, bystanders did say his clothes looked a little torn, and he was limping a bit."

Ness blinked a little wider at that, giving the constable his full attention. "Limping?"

The man nodded. "Aye. As if he'd twisted an ankle, or his entire leg was in a splint."

Ness couldn't help but grin, sensing the first bit of good luck all day. "That's good news for my crew and I. If the Grey Shadow is injured, we may yet be able to catch him yet." Ness shook the constable by his shoulders. "When you chased him out of town, which way did he go?"

"He went west." The peacekeeper said, a little stunned at Ness' attitude.

Ness blinked. "There isn't a road to the west. It's all just the Western Hills, isn't it?"

"Yawp, you'd be right about that." The constable nodded. He didn't close his mouth, frowning to himself. "But…Well, there is one thing west of Sanderson's Falls he might be going towards."

Ness let go of the man's shoulders and stepped back. "And just what would that be?"

The officer frowned, rubbing at his chin. "Well…A great many years back, as I think I heard my grandfather say once, there was a tunnel that led into the interior of the Western Hills. If you believe the folk tales, dwarves used to live in those hills…but that was long before anyone's recollection, if it's true. Back before the Council of Traders finalized the roads in Crannogh Heights, those tunnels, Fenderson's Pass as we call it, were used to ferry goods to the southern regions of Samael's Lands."

"It was a trade route? Why didn't they just take it across the country, go across the border?"

"Oh, they would have, aye, but the trade that went on through Fenderson's Pass wasn't exactly…well, legal." The constable said, laughing. "There was a tariff on the spirits that crossed the border into Samael's Lands, I'll have you know. That was how the local brewmasters competed with all the foreign liquors that came in. Fenderson's Pass allowed the wine merchants to get their merchandise into the north while avoiding paying the tariff; it was just stiff enough to warrant their illicit activities." The policeman shrugged. "Of course, Fenderson's Pass has been abandoned for years, ever since King Samael…one of 'em, I forget which…Loosened the import tariff on goods. It became easier and safer to just use the roads and cross the border normally." The policeman shuddered. "More because it's safer. We closed down Fenderson's Pass about the time I was born."

Ness crossed his arms. "Did the tunnels become unstable?"

"Oh, lord no. Those tunnels are as solid as the day whoever dug 'em." The policeman murmured, drawing a circle in front of him. Ness recognized the gesture; it was what worshippers of Solares did to symbolize the sun, in hopes it would ward off evil that might seek them out. "The problem is who's in 'em now."

Ness's face darkened. "And just who would that be?"

The policeman shrugged. "Nobody knows, exactly. Nobody who's ever gone into 'em since then ever comes back out. Maybe it's beasties protecting their nests. Maybe it's some sort of haven for the restless spirits o' the wine smugglers. Or maybe the tunnels 'emselves just swallow up people foolish enough to walk through 'em." The constable shook his head. "If yer quarry, this… 'Shadow' as he calls himself has gone into those tunnels, it's a fair bet he won't come out on the other side."

Ness Benson set a hand to his longsword again. "You don't know the Grey Shadow like I do." He growled. "He'll make it through, just because he's so evil that the darkest spirit wouldn't dare consume him. But if that's where he's gone, then we'll have to follow. It's not like the exit's marked on the other side, is it?"

The constable thought back to his grandfather's ramblings and shook his head. "Come to think of it, no. The authorities across the border never did find where the Pass came out at. But there is an exit…Of that, I'm sure of."

Ness sighed and closed his eyes, feeling a familiar dread begin to rise up in his heart. "Then that's it. We'll have to follow him in."

The constable gave him a sympathetic look. "You know, what you're looking to do is almost suicide, right? Nobody's gone into those tunnels in years. We tell ghost stories to our young'uns to scare 'em away from it."

Ness smiled back, sad and feeling old again. "Then maybe it's time for a few unlucky spirits as ourselves to prove the old warning tales true, eh?"

The watchman tipped his hat. "I'll have the Solarian priests say a prayer for you and yours tonight, then. Be well, swordsman."

"Be well." Ness said, reciprocating the farewell. His job completed, the policeman strolled off into the afternoon.

Ness pulled his green cloak around his body tightly. It wouldn't be easy, because it never was. Even injured, as the townsfolk claimed, the Grey Shadow still was outmaneuvering Ness. No, the assassin was used to dark places. He moved in earnest inside of them, thrived in them. To Ness and the others, though…Darkness hindered their pace and their impressionable minds.

"Damn him." Ness said bitterly, walking about town, letting his feet take him where they wanted as his mind wandered. To get to the assassin, he'd have to risk the tunnels, and his team, once again. Every time it was the same.

For years, it had been like that. Oh, the Grey Shadow would leave enough of a trail when he wanted to, for he probably got some sick joy out of the chase. Ness knew where he was going, knew the route. There was no other way to go; only by following his quarry exactly could Ness Benson hope to stay on his trail, reach him before he got to Istus and shrank back into the shadows from whence he came.

But it was a trap. It had to be. Either it was one planned by the Shadow himself, or it was something else within the caverns.

For a change, Ness had become attached to his associates. That was something he had tried not to do for years, for in pursuing the Grey Shadow, he had lost too many friends, had his heart shattered too many times. By isolating himself from those he rode and fought with, Ness had hoped to minimize the heartbreak when they fell, victim to the curse that hounded him and gave him his nickname.

But Rachel, Marik, and Morris…Bitterly, Ness realized he had failed. They had become more than just his associates. They were beginning to become, as much as it pained him, friends he enjoyed sharing his road with.

They would be killed. It wasn't a guess.

It was just a fact.

Numbly, Ness stopped himself and looked up, realizing he had wandered off farther than he had wanted to. He had gone beyond the northern side of town, and now stood on the edge of it, the fringe of Sanderson's Falls.

Blinking, he recalled back to the last time he had been here, a decade before.

Of course, back then, he was a youth that had just begun his career as a warrior for hire. Brimming, lively, and seeking adventure. And he had come to this town…to this place…to this very house.

Gaining a sad smile as he walked up to the porch and traced the faded paint of the sign next to the door, Ness read it again.

_**Madame Mystery's Maids: Travelers Welcome**_

"Things were different back then." Ness whispered to himself, pulling his hand back. The hostel had seen better days, but it still seemed open and in use. Once before had he come here, on the eve of the beginning of his journey to become the best sellsword Ashra had ever known.

It only made sense he should come here now…so close to what he felt was the end. Taking in a breath, he knocked on the thick wooden door.

A few seconds passed before it opened, and a young woman glanced out, smiling as she recognized the clear signs of a road-weary traveler. "Lookin' for a warm bed, love?" She grinned, her freckled face looking flushed in the dim light inside. Ness could make out her minimal dress, and smiled, as all men would, at the promise displayed in those few inches of open door.

"Depends on who I get to share it with, I suppose." Ness said easily. "Do you think you have room for such a man as myself?"

"Ohh, I'm thinking we just might." The girl laughed coyly, opening the door the rest of the way and stepping aside. Ness walked through the doorway, and the young lass shut it behind him.

Ness took off his cloak, and none too soon as the same red-haired and freckled girl draped her arms over her shoulders and leaned against him, her satin gown leaving little to the imagination. "My name's Delilah, dearie. And if ye fancy me, I'm yours for the night."

"Oh?" Ness said, bemused at her candor. He put a hand on her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her flesh through his glove. "And how much would it cost to have you rub the aches out of me?"

Delilah grinned at that. "Two gold, and I won't be caring what ye'd ask me to rub."

A few more girls came out, venturing into the parlor and smiling at the newcomer with the same open and inviting expressions. Despite himself, Ness felt a flush of heat rise up to his cheeks. "My, my. Two gold, eh? Awfully reasonable for such a temptress as yourself, my lady."

She nibbled at the underside of his chin, teasing his throat with the tip of her tongue. "The best in the house, I promise you." She whispered, pulling away to shyly grab at his hand. She turned about and moved to lead him upstairs, but Ness paused, and the resistance stopped the girl. Curious, she turned around to look at him. "Hm? What's wrong, love?"

Ness drew in a breath, glancing around at all the other women in the chattel. "Well, to be honest Delilah…I came here looking for another woman. An older one." He paused and chuckled. "She was the one who warmed my bed the last time I was here."

Delilah seemed to pout at that as she realized her own sale had failed, then crossed her arms and took on a businesslike tone, all seduction lost. "Well, by all means, father. If ye have a name, I'll do my best to match ye up to your old girl." She pronounced the old with some force, giving it an added negative implication to his age as well.

Ness barely noticed the insult. "Her name was Lilly…but I believe all the girls called her 'Moonlight Flower'."

The women of the chattel all froze at that, none of them willing to speak. Ness blinked back to them, then let his face fall. "I see. She's no longer with you, is she?"

"Oh, she is." Came a quiet and older voice. Ness turned towards it and felt the years melt away. The women of the brothel parted, and a mistress in her thirties, dressed in purple and black silks appeared out of a darkened doorway.

Her face was a little tighter around the edges, her nightshade hair was a little thinner, waving out behind her as a sea of darkness. But the quiet, suggestive gray eyes and the upturned smile were the same.

Ten years hadn't changed that about the woman known as Lilly.

Ness felt his breath slide out of his lungs, withheld by its own volition. "It's you." He said in a soft whisper, and the woman nodded at him, accepting, as warm as she had been back when he was in his prime.

"It's me." She said back. She lifted one of her graceful hands up and motioned around the room. "I own and run the place now, you know…I'm not one of the girls anymore."

Ness moved towards her slowly, smiling. "Aye, but you're still my favorite lady in all the house."

Despite herself, Lilly blushed as he grasped her hand and kissed the back of it. "You're still a flatterer, aren't you Ness?" She sighed for a moment, then looked to the others. "Ladies, this one is mine."

Ness lifted an eyebrow. "But I thought you said you weren't one of the girls anymore."

"And true enough, I'm not." She countered, resting a hand against his chest. "Except for you, hero. For you, I'm willing to forget that for a night." She leaned her head beside his, her breath teasing his earlobe. "But it'll cost you, extra, Ness."

"It did last time, too." He said, tracing a line up her arm, pleased to find she still shivered at his touch. "So what's the chance we can have a little dinner before we…catch up on old times?"

Lilly took him by his hand, smiling gracefully to Ness before giving a curt nod to Delilah. "The _father_ and I will take our dinner in my room."

Delilah paled, realizing that her superior had heard the comment. "I'll see to it, ma'am." She said meekly, bowing.

Ness cracked a grin at Lilly, who simply walked towards the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, Ness's hand still held in hers.

This time, Ness responded to the beckoning.

* * *

><p>The beaker of water bubbled over the tiny flame the enchanted flask of oil provided; a benefit to Rachel's work was that it would never run out, which meant the kit would work as well on the first batch of liquid that she made as it would the seventeenth, and far beyond that.<p>

Morris frowned at the beaker half his size tall, but just as thick around. "You know, I think this is a little too much water for a potion." He peered through the glass, which made his face distort in the boiling water. On the other side of the table, Rachel giggled at the imp's expression.

"You're right, of course." She picked up another one of the rectangular vials from her satchel and set it to rest beside the others on the curing rack. "When I'm done, all that is going to be set in these vials…"

"All six of them?" Morris said, lifting an eyebrow. "You're making six potions all at once?"

"Of course." The girl said. "It's an odd branch of magic, but it's magic nonetheless…and it can be duplicated or multiplied, as long as you have the time and energy." She glanced down at the boiling beaker and nodded. "I think we're finally ready. Marik?"

Standing over in one corner of the room, watching with a slightly interested posture, the Sorceror glanced over to her, the dark hood moving slowly.

Rachel pointed to her traveling rucksack on the floor beside him. "In the right side pouch, you should find a silk pouch about the size of my hand. We're going to need that in a moment."

The mage nodded and summoned forth his Sorceror's hand, digging about in the bag until he pulled out a purple pouch matching Rachel's description. Curiously, he brought it up to the edge of his hood as if to smell it.

The imp guffawed. "Marik says it smells like mint."

"It should." Rachel smiled. "That's what I use as the bonding component."

"Bonding component?" Came the imp's expected query.

Rachel thought for a moment. "I suppose…Well, the easiest way to put it is that my magic needs something to hold onto. Something other than the water, which will shortly become anything but."

Morris frowned. "But when priests bless holy water…They don't add anything else to it." He said, carrying over Marik's words.

"Really, now." The Calyssan said, tossing the mage a wry grin. She held her hand out. "I think we had something similar back in The Realm, but we never used it to heal people. Can I have those mint leaves, please?"

The green hand floated them over to Rachel, gently depositing the pouch into her hand. "Thank you." Rachel said, untying the pullstring. "You know, the next time we get into a town with any sort of a botanist's alley or garden, I'm going to have to do some shopping. If I'm going to be making a habit of this, I don't have nearly enough ingredients on me."

"Are we going to be short any for this?" Morris asked, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets.

"No, we'll be all right." Rachel assured him, reaching her hand into the pouch and carefully pulling out a few withered green leaves. Weighing them in her hand, she nodded. "Once and half this much should do it." She set the herbs down on the table and dug for the rest, then set them all inside the wooden bowl that had come with the set. "Next, we have to grind them up as fine as we can...The finer the material, the better our potion base is going to be."

"In other words, the magic 'sticks' to your ingredient…and by making sure that the mint is ground up and evenly mixed in that water, you make sure you get a constant blend?" Came Morris' query. It was Marik's question, though, and Rachel had to smile up at him.

"Have you studied potions before, Marik?"

"No, no. Just a guess." Came the honest reply from Morris. "It made sense, didn't it?"

"Very much so." Rachel smiled, turning back to her work. She reached for a pestle and began to work it around the bowl. Morris could make out the crackling snap of the mint as it gave way into flakes and dust. She gave a relaxing sigh as she continued to grind the leaves down, and the strong smell of mint extract filled the room. "You know, I'd forgotten how calming it is to do this."

Marik walked over beside her, sitting in the second chair of the table. "Oh? How long have you been making potions then?" Morris asked for him.

"I was taught how to when I was thirteen." Rachel said, brushing back her hair. She pulled the pestle free of the bowl and nodded. "I think it's ready."

"And you're…How old now?"

"Sixteen." Rachel answered, standing up with the bowl. She looked over to Marik. "How about you?"

"Marik's twenty and I'm…Ohh, I'd say about thirty-five." Morris replied easily. "Of course, age isn't as important to me."

"Why not?" Rachel asked, lifting an eyebrow. Morris paused at that, then shrugged.

"Well, according to what Marik dug up, my kind can live past two hundred in the mortal world, if we're careful."

The girl giggled as she poured the ground mint into the boiling water. It took on a light green tint as the mint began to cook down. "Lucky you. But, your answer makes me a little glad."

Morris blinked. "Glad? What for?"

The girl stirred the water and gave the two of them a small smile, her nose wrinkling ever so slightly. "I was afraid that you and Marik were old enough to be my grandfathers."

The imp sputtered at that, and Marik seemed to tilt his head in disbelief. Rachel's smile cracked into a grin and she laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, I'm just having some fun with you."

Morris rolled his eyes once he'd recovered. "Oh, I'll get you back for that one. Somehow, I will." He puffed out his chest. "I'll have you know I'm in the prime of my life! Why, back before Marik summoned me, I had a different implet screaming my name every night and…Oh, that's a blatant lie, Morris, and you know it…huh? Boss! I was…Just…Gods!"

Rachel laughed even harder, sinking back into her chair and pressing an arm against her stomach as Morris grew even more redfaced from the intrusive comment that Marik had sent through him. Rachel felt lightheaded after a while, and tears began to form in her eyes.

She began to compose herself after a few moments of that, her chest aching from the sudden exhilarating bout of laughter. She stopped herself just in time to hear a bit of something unusual. She had thought it was Morris for a moment, but it hadn't been. Morris' voice was higher, and a lot squeaker when he got excited.

This had been a low growling chuckle with what almost been a hiss. Blinking a few times, she realized that it had been Marik who had laughed with her. And that made her smile all the broader, if only because for one moment, the mage had come out of his shell.

"My goodness." Rachel said, wiping the tears out of her eyes. "I haven't laughed like that in ages. I'm sorry Morris, we shouldn't joke at your expense…but it was awfully funny."

"I'm glad somebody thought so." The deflated familiar commented, sitting cross-legged and hunching over with a pout.

Rachel looked over to the mixture in the beaker. "I think it's starting to thicken up." Even as they spoke, the mint was dissolving into the green mixture. She stood up and turned out the flame, then absentmindedly reached for the beaker before stopping herself. "Oh, shoot. Marik, could I bother you to look in my bag again? We're going to need a thick handcloth so I can pour this into the vials without burning myself…"

"Don't bother." Came the grumbling voice of Morris. He looked up to Rachel, his expression inferring Marik's voice. "I can take care of it."

Once again, the green Sorceror's hand appeared in front of Marik, who directed it with careful movements of his own hand within his left sleeve. Rachel watched, interested but no longer surprised at Marik's favorite trick, as it took hold of the beaker and grasped it firmly.

"Are all the vials ready?" Came Marik's query, echoed through Morris.

"As ready as they will be. Pour carefully; there's enough in there to fill up these six vials, but there won't be if you spill any."

Nodding, the mage directed the green hand into action. He carefully tilted the beaker over, making sure that a manageable stream came down and into the first vial. Rachel shook her head at the precision, putting a hand to her chin.

"You know, you're awfully accurate with that spell of yours."

"Well, he has been using it for years." Morris countered. "Mostly to catch me and beat up rats in the kitchen."

"Remind me to invite you the next time I do some baking." Rachel smiled.

One by one, the glass vials were slowly filled to just short of the line where the cork stoppers would go. The hand settled the empty beaker down on the table beside the burner and disappeared as easily as it had come. "Well, it's all up to me now." Rachel said, taking in a deep breath.

She stood up and settled over the vials, holding her hands down towards them. Morris perked his tiny head up, watching with as much interest as Marik did.

From somewhere within Rachel, a glowing white light stretched out into prominence. Blossoming from her chest, it went up to her face and into her eyes, giving them a whitish cast that drowned out the blue. Her hair began to dance about her shoulders, caught in a gentle breeze that began to flow about the room.

Morris stared with an openmouthed expression of awe…Marik held his breath, just as surprised.

The white aura rolled down her arms, into her hands, along her fingers. And finally, after endless seconds of watching their Calyssan healer transform from the beautiful girl they knew her as to an angel who wielded divine strength as a river about her, Rachel spoke and broke the silence.

"…Let these potions heal the weak…and may Calyssa's light restore the brave."

The light followed its path, slowly fading. From her heart, to her eyes, to her hair, to her shoulders and arms and hands…and then all draining away, ensnared within the six small bottles, each beginning to glow with its own soothing, comforting light.

Rachel slowly pulled her hands away from the vials, which glowed for a few moments more before dimming down to a deeper, fuller green. She took a step back, weakly raising a hand up to her forehead.

Marik snapped up, alert and worried as he watched her knees begin to buckle. Rushing with a speed he hadn't ever used in her presence before, he dove down to her side and caught her as she fell. Rachel blinked a few times more and shook her head.

"Rachel, are you all right?" Morris asked, snapping to his feet and instantly worried.

Marik lifted her up, one hand behind her back and the other giving her a sleeve to hold onto. The girl blinked a few times and offered a weary smile. "I'm sorry to worry you…I forgot that I can sometimes overdo it."

"Maybe next time you make potions, you should do it sitting down." Morris chided her. "If Marik hadn't caught you in time, you might have taken a nasty tumble." Rachel glanced up to the dark hood of her rescuer, a grateful expression on her face.

"Thank you, Marik." The Sorceror's hood bobbed in reply, easing her over to her seat.

Only at the last moment did he notice that in his haste to stop her from hitting the floor, he had exposed his hand out of his sleeve. Eyes she could not see went wide in dismay, and he quickly pulled it back and into the confines of the robe when she sat down.

Rachel noticed the quick motion, but didn't catch sight of his hand. "What, am I on fire or something?"

Morris, having sensed the sudden fright, guessed correctly at what had happened and scrambled to cover up the faux pas. "No, he just didn't think it was proper to be holding you like that."

Rachel nodded slowly, believing it. "I can see why he'd feel that way…But Marik, the next time I fall like that, it's not a problem, all right?" She folded her hands in her lap and smiled. "After all, I'd prefer to be embarrassed rather than hurt."

The Sorceror nodded his head mechanically and sat down, motioning to the vials.

"Marik was wondering just what happens now."

Rachel considered that for a moment. "Well, I just finished the last step; channeling my healing magics into it. They're real potions of healing now. But they need some time to cool and coalesce; by tomorrow morning, they'll be ready."

"So we just have to wait the rest of the night then, is that it?"

"I suppose." Rachel said, blinking a few more times. She rubbed at her eyes with one hand for a moment, shaking her head. "I'm out of practice. I shouldn't get this weak when I do this."

"You'll get better at it." Morris reassured her. "In the meantime, I think they're getting dinner ready downstairs. Would some roast chicken make you feel a little more energized?"

Rachel stood up, feeling a little stronger already. "It's a start." She offered gently, moving towards the door. Marik and Morris followed after her, wondering if they would have to catch her again.

They shouldn't have worried too much, though.

Creating potions may have taken a bit out of her, but that strength always came back. It was Calyssa's light, after all. It always shined brightest in adversity. And Rachel felt more alive, being with people she had come to trust and call friends, out on the road than she ever had before.

* * *

><p><em>The Northern Edge of Sanderson's Falls<em>

The sun was only then beginning to set, but the weary Ness Benson had already eaten dinner and called it a night. Or at least he had, for a time, in the arms of a woman he had never really forgotten, but had lost touch with. He had stayed in bed with her in the afterglow of their coupling, coaxing her to sleep.

But Ness himself could not. It wasn't that the sex had somehow vivified him, left him with so much adrenaline he couldn't hope to slow down. Quite the opposite; he wasn't as young as he had been, and she was twice as demanding in her middling years. No, it was tomorrow that kept him awake, pondering, and just tired enough to want to sleep, while too worried to do so.

So he stood in the open balcony window of her suite in the chattel, his undershorts and a loose tunic thrown on to keep some sense of modesty. He watched the sun set, and let the quiet breeze blow through his curly brown hair.

Behind him, the woman known as Lilly stirred from her slumber, holding the covers against her body as she took in the sight of him at the window. "Come back to bed, Ness."

The aged swordsman shook his head. "I can't sleep, Lilly."

She smiled, remembering how wild he had been only two hours before. "Why? Afraid that you'll see me in your dreams as well?"

"If I only had you in my dreams, I'd never wake up." Ness answered her, looking back to the bed with a forlorn gaze. "But I don't see you in my dreams. I see ghosts."

The woman frowned, pushing aside the covers and reaching for her silk nightrobe. "What kind of talk is that?"

"Honest talk." Ness told her quietly. "Tomorrow, my comrades and I are heading west for Fenderson's Pass, in chase of a dangerous man. And every time I think of them…I wonder how long it will be until they join all the other specters of the brave adventurers who have fallen walking with me."

She came up behind and wrapped her arms about him, her nightrobe brushing up against his legs with a light caress. "You never talked like this before…Why are you so worried about it now?

Ness bowed his head. "You know, I did make a name for myself in my travels, Lilly. But it's one I wish I could go without." He turned to look at her. "They call me the Cursed Blade. Almost every person who has joined me on a journey or quest has died." He shook his head with a sad smile. "And only I am allowed to walk away from it…time and time again, to mourn the fallen and have them haunt me in my dreams." He stared out towards the horizon. "I hate that damnable sunset."

Lilly let a hand play in his hair. "Now why would you ever want to hate such a thing?"

"The sunset means there must come a sunrise. When that happens, it means that I'll be taking my three comrades into another dangerous place. A place where they may die, and I know it. As hard as I've tried, I've never once been able to save a single soul." Ness let out a low, bitter chuckle. "So does that mean that they will go next?"

Lilly let out a sigh. Just as she had grown older, more mature, wiser in her ways and in her leadership of the chattel, so too now, she realized, had Ness aged. And not for the better.

"Ness, you can't let ghosts get to you. You're more than a name. You're only the Cursed Blade if you believe it."

Ness closed his eyes. "And if these three die because of me, what then?"

"You don't want them to die, do you?"

"Of course not."

"Then stop thinking about it." She answered with another sigh. "Where was the youth, so excited, so passionate when last we met? Where's the Ness that left my heart aching, promising me he'd conquer all of Ashra in my name?"

Ness smiled sadly at the reference, biting his lip. "He grew old, Lilly."

Lilly reached a hand down to stroke his thigh, and he came alive again. "Not too old, it seems." She teased him.

Ness turned about, holding his hands on her shoulders. His quiet blue eyes sparkled in the night, looking down at her. "Lilly, Lilly. I should have made you an honest woman."

She laughed at that as she tousled his hair. "Ness, you're a wonderful man…but I could never stand to be married to you. And besides, your heart never belonged with me." She smiled back at him, knowing. "It was always beyond the next hill."

Ness lowered a hand down to bring hers up, kissing it and squeezing it tight. "Lilly, you're a wonderful woman."

"I hope you'll remember that you said that when you leave your payment for the night." She said slyly, before taking on a more serious pose. "Now come back to bed. And forget your troubling thoughts. Tomorrow is tomorrow, and we still have tonight. Besides, you shouldn't dwell on death so. If you ponder deaths that haven't happened yet, you may well invite them." She pulled back, holding his hand and dragging him along. "For now, Ness…come back to bed. And give me a reason to remember your wonderful face for another ten years."

While the doubts in his head didn't go away, the former courtesan called Lilly did succeed in doing one thing by mesmerizing him with her flowing black hair and warm eyes. For long until after the sun finished falling and the stars began to appear, he thought of little else except her.

And then afterwards, held in her arms as they drifted off to sleep utterly exhausted, Ness thought of nothing at all.

* * *

><p><em>He could feel the terror…the fear that they exuded. It was a delicious sensation, sweeter than the most well preserved elven draught. <em>

_ Through them he plowed, an unstoppable force, almost a force of nature. He was death personified and everywhere around him came the screams and cries of the terrorized and the dying. A few brave souls, men and women dedicated to protecting their families, their village, tried to stand in his way. They fell like flies at his feet, twitching and writhing in pain from a force they could not comprehend. Those few who somehow resisted him were struck down with the magical essence at his command._

_ A bloodlust raced through his veins, and he lost his mind to the revel, the ecstasy of his actions. Laughter…his laughter…echoed through the night, blending in the screams._

_ At last, he approached one of the women whose senses he had rendered harmless with a mere glance. Lying prone and helpless, a broom by her side, the woman still trembled at his approach, her eyes dancing. Her pulse ran wild, and he knelt down, opening his mouth wide. _

_ Moments later, he reared back from her now lifeless corpse, slick blood flying in all directions and dripping from his inhuman jaws…He lifted his head up to the heavens and bellowed a triumphant roar._

Marik woke from the nightmare with a gasping sob and tears in his eyes. Trembling, he clutched at his chest and gained bearings on his surroundings. Even in the complete darkness of night, his eyes adjusted to show him every detail of his room at the lodge.

Morris was dead asleep on the nightstand, sitting on a pile of loose fabrics and snoring as he leaned up against the medallion that had been left to Marik by his long dead mother. The imp was sprawled out without a care, snoring away.

Marik shook his head.

_Just a dream. Just…A horrible dream._

He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to calm his breathing. But it wasn't any nightmare. No, it was the same one he had had before, countless times before.

Letting out a sob, he pushed the covers aside and picked himself up.

_I'm not a monster. I'm not. I would never…Never…_

But he had. A long time ago, when he had been but a child. He had done it once…and never again.

He had become something else in those frenzied moments, and the guilt and horror of it still haunted him, still kept him tied down, so many years later. Marik went over to the mirror in his room and stared at himself.

Staring at the dark black eyes.

Stared at the misshapen, discolored face.

Stared at everything he hated, and everything he feared.

Sighing, the Sorceror glanced over to Morris, who snored away, blissfully unaware of the panic that had gripped his friend. Marik knew he would not be returning to sleep anytime soon…But Morris shouldn't have to suffer for his own weaknesses. So Marik let Morris sleep. He picked up the rabbit's foot and tied it to his waist, then threw over the thick black robe and hood. The cloak he let be; he wouldn't need it. His boots, specially tailored to his unusual feet, went on last.

Morris would sleep. Marik opened up his door and headed downstairs, hoping that in the embers of the fire downstairs, he would be able to push aside his shadows and move forward.

What he hadn't expected was to have company, though that was what he found. Moving silently down the stairs, in the hopes of not disturbing any of the sleepers in the lodge, he froze at the entrance into the living room and fireplace. Sitting without a care in the world, a cup of something warm in her hand, Rachel Ashbury stared into the fire, contemplating something beyond anyone's guess. Marik began to turn about, wishing not to disturb her, but she noticed the movement at last, turning to look towards the giant in the hooded robes of black.

"Marik?" She called out cautiously. "Is that you?" He froze, realizing he had been caught. Slowly he turned and nodded towards her, realizing with a new dawning horror that Morris was fast asleep.

Beyond his mental reach.

The girl gave him a weak smile. "You couldn't sleep well either, eh?"

Marik nodded again.

She motioned to another one of the upholstered chairs in the room. "Well, why don't we just sit here for a while then?"

Marik hesitated, and the girl rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Marik. I don't bite."

Sensing it would do more to hurt her sensibilities if he fled now, the Sorceror began to move into the living room with more than his fair share of dread.

As he sat down in the chair opposite of her, Rachel reached for a second cup. "Would you care for some tea?"

Marik tilted his head to the side, wondering just how she had made tea at this hour. She produced a thermos, smiling at him. "A gift from my parents when I graduated from Novice at my home temple. It makes a new batch of honeyed tea every day. Can I interest you in a cup?"

Marik nodded, not one to refuse hospitality. She poured it out, sighing to herself. "I shouldn't be awake…But I just found myself too alert to sleep. The only sensible thing was to come down here and stare at the fire."

Marik said nothing as he accepted the cup with his Sorceror's hand, drawing it up and taking a sip in the darkness of his hood. He was surprised; it was just as she described it. Honeyed just enough to be sweet without losing the dusky flavor of the leaves themselves, and piping hot. He nodded appreciatively at her.

"You like it, eh?" She smiled, shaking her head. "It's funny. Nobody I knew back at the temple was ever too fond of tea."

The mage shrugged, taking another sip.

Rachel blinked at him a few times, then set her cup aside, leaning an arm on her chair as she looked at him. "You know, you can say something."

Marik said nothing, pushing his own tea away and giving a slow shake of his hood.

Rachel blinked a few times before she realized the reason for his silence. "Oh…Morris isn't with you, is he?" Marik looked away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." Rachel apologized. "And here I thought you were…" She shook her head. "I take it he could sleep."

A nod.

"But you couldn't. Were you just too excited as well?"

Marik answered with a shake to the no.

"…A nightmare?" An emphatic yes to that. Rachel reached for her teacup again. "I hate those too."

She turned and stared towards the fire, drinking her tea in silence for a few minutes. Marik did the same, feeling himself becoming relaxed by the flickering embers.

"Ness never came back." Rachel spoke quietly, blinking for a moment. Marik glanced over at her, surprised. The healer looked over at him, almost sensing the silent question. "I don't know why. It's not like he got lost or anything. Though, he did mention he might not see us again until morning…" She blinked, frowning at a question. "You don't suppose that he's found out something?"

Marik shrugged. "I suppose anything is possible with him." Rachel went on. "All we can do is just wait for him to come back."

Marik thought for a moment wanting to ask her a question, but entirely afraid to use his own voice to ask it. He finished off his tea and set the cup down, floating the hand in front of him. It fumbled about in the air, then disappeared. Angrily, Marik slammed his real hands, hidden from view, against the armrests of his chair.

The Calyssan glanced at him, a new level of understanding in her eyes. "You want to ask me something, don't you?" The Sorceror said nothing, as always. "But without Morris…you don't know how."

Marik's head nodded.

Rachel folded her arms after pulling her blue shawl around her shoulders a little tighter. "You could just talk to me."

He gave his head a vigorous shake to that, and Rachel looked crestfallen. "Why not?" She looked at him with a pleading stare. "Remember? I said I wasn't afraid of you anymore. You asked me that." Her hair sparkled in the firelight. "I'm not some stranger off of the street, Marik. I'm your comrade, your…your friend." She said after a pause. She blinked at the word, slowly nodding her head in agreement. It was the right word to use…and the right thing to say. "I don't care how you sound. I know who you are. You're not some faceless, voiceless shadow. You're alive. You're caring." She set her arms down on the chair, pleading with him one last time. "If you have something to say, then just say it."

Perhaps Rachel knew she was beating against a wall inside of him he had put up long ago. Or perhaps she was simply trying to get him to open up, to understand her eccentric ally just a little bit better. Her intentions were good, no matter how Marik could have looked at it. But he was the one who wouldn't change.

He had been told all his life, through experience and through the saddening wisdom of the few who had known him, that he would never be accepted.

He clung to that, and to the pact he and Morris had made long ago, about only trusting each other. Because his recurring nightmare was fresh in his mind, Marik couldn't even trust himself.

Slowly, he stood up and gave his hooded head another shake. She seemed hurt and disappointed as she looked away from him. "You just can't believe in anyone, can you." Rachel whispered. Marik could hear every heartbreaking syllable.

He reached out towards her, with his hand, with a sleeve of his robe…But he stopped himself, caught by his doubt and paranoia once again. Disappointed with himself, he walked away from the fireplace and up the stairs.

Rachel stared back into the embers after he was gone, her eyes quiet and wondering. She put the lid back onto her enchanted thermos and set it aside, leaning her head on an arm.

"Rosequeen." She breathed sadly. "Why am I here…Working with them?" An ember popped, letting out a sparkling mote of light.

_How can I work with Marik…if he won't even trust me enough to talk to me?_

* * *

><p>Morning found Lilly waking up more exhausted than she had been in a long time, and waking up in a bed which was once again empty. The only reminder that the man called Ness Benson had ever been there was an organized stack of coins on her dresser. Counting out forty gold dragons, more than any of her girls had ever gotten paid, she wandered over to her window and stared outside, wondering how long it would be until she saw him again.<p>

Morning found Morris waking up, oblivious to the night's frustration and grumbling about crackers as the Sorceror meditated, having gotten very little sleep, but surprisingly unaffected in his mental clarity.

Morning found Rachel Ashbury stirring from a restless night in the living room she had fallen asleep in, shaken awake by the concerned innkeeper, Elisha Sandorn.

Morning found them all wondering what the day would bring…and very much out of synch with one another.

Marik and Morris came down the stairs to a warm, but small breakfast. Rachel looked up from her oatmeal for a moment to the Sorceror, and Morris thought to say a cheerful hello. Before the imp could, she gave a sad grimace and dropped her head down to her meal, not having the spirit to say anything.

Marik also looked away, too ashamed to look at her.

In through the front door came their commander at last, looking rested but restless, and giving a weak smile to the innkeeper.

"And just where have you been all night?" Mrs. Sandorn asked, folding her thick arms.

"I met an old friend of mine…" Ness said after a while, "And I thought it best to say a proper farewell." He glanced to his teammates. "Well, the two of you look alive enough. Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough." Rachel said, her voice more muted than usual. Morris gave the swordsman a grin.

"Are you kidding me? Best sleep I've gotten in a long while. I had a dream about these two innocent little fairies, and…Well, suffice it to say, I'm a very happy imp this morning." He puffed out his chest and exhaled loudly to emphasize the point. "How about you, Marik?"

The Sorceror said nothing, as he always did…but more than that, he didn't even give Morris a glance. The imp frowned and reached out towards him.

_Hey, boss…are you feeling all right?_

_**Not now, Morris.**_

_ You couldn't have gotten sick, could you…_

_** Quit it. Just let it go, Morris.**_

_Hey, you know if there's anything wrong you can always tell your old pal Mor…_

"So what do we know of our quarry, the Grey Shadow?" Came Morris's voice. The imp blinked a few times, then glowered at Marik. "Crackers! Don't override me when I'm talking to you!"

Ness blinked, unsure of the conversation happening before him. "Well, I'm glad you asked. It turns out my old 'friend' came through this villa the day before, and terrorized the citizenry. They reported him injured and limping. He's headed west, and there's only one thing west of town, as the town watch told me. An old holdover from the days of the high import tariffs into Samael's Lands and illicit alcohol running; a series of tunnels and caverns in the Western Hills known as Fenderson's Pass."

Ness pursed his lips, then shook his head. "I should warn you, we're probably walking into a fine mess of things. Fenderson's Pass has been closed off to the public for years, because it was too dangerous. Something's in those tunnels, and it doesn't like trespassers."

"But because that's where the Grey Shadow's headed, we have to follow." Rachel concluded, looking up to the older adventurer. "Right?"

Ness sighed, giving her a worried look. "This is my mission, and mine alone. I won't honeycoat it, Miss Ashbury. This next leg of the chase is going to be very, very dangerous." He blinked. If you wanted to part ways with me, leave without facing the dangers ahead, I'd understand." He glanced over to the brooding figure in the dark black robes and cloak. "And that goes for you and Morris as well, Marik."

The imp thought about it for a moment, conversing with Marik in some fashion Ness couldn't understand. He finally shrugged. "Hell, we can't quit now. We haven't even gotten paid yet, and we were really looking forward to that hefty reward." Morris grinned. "Rest easy, Ness. We're sticking with you."

Rachel pushed her half-eaten oatmeal aside, nodding as well. "Calyssa must have had some reason to bring me to you, Ness. I won't leave your side." She threw a glance at Marik, then looked back to the swordsman. "You always talk to us…and I'm grateful for that."

Morris felt the sting in those words that hit Marik, but said nothing, choosing to ponder just what exactly had happened while he was asleep to bring about a shift in her mood.

While he didn't infer it to Marik, the imp began to wonder if it didn't have something to do with Marik's grumpier than normal attitude.

Ness, unaware of any of that, smiled and shook his head. "By Fanachlor's smile. It seems I won't be parting ways with you quite yet." His smile went back to a serious expression. "But let's be careful out there. Rachel, have you practiced with that small crossbow any since yesterday?"

"I don't need to, Ness." The girl said lightly, digging into the satchel that hung at her side. "But I have something for us as well." She pulled out four of her six healing potions, giving two to Ness and placing the other two a short distance from Marik. "I made these yesterday, with some help from Marik and Morris. If we get ourselves in a tight spot and I can't cast a healing spell right away, use them." She looked to Ness. "They'll heal you just as well as I can."

Ness tucked them away, nodding at the thoughtful gesture. "Well, then. To the road again, I suppose. There's nothing else we need to do here in town?"

"Not to my knowledge." Rachel answered, glancing to Morris. The imp shrugged.

"My conscience is clear."

Ness threw back his green cloak. "Then let us make haste. Even as we speak, the Grey Shadow puts more distance between us." He thanked the innkeeper one last time and walked out the door, Rachel and Marik close behind.

Without the added weight of the bandit's spoils, they moved quickly again. And while his worry about Marik, Morris and Rachel still lingered at the back of his mind, Ness had moved past them, intent on keeping to the present. Lilly had said as much.

They passed out of town and along an old worn road leading into the Western Hills a few minutes later, Ness all too sure that even if the danger was great, his comrades meant to stand by him. And he meant to stand by them, for he had to trust them fully and completely, if they were to stand a chance on the road ahead. His heart was light and his troubles, while deep, were seemingly few.

How darker the road would have been had he known the chasm Marik had placed between himself and the openhearted Calyssan…All for lack of the trust they would so desperately need for the perils unknown.


	6. Five: Demons of Men

**Five: Demons of Men**

_The Western Hills, Crannogh Heights_

The party of three adventurers and an imp walked all morning through the winding and abandoned trail in the temperate climate of southern Ashra. Ness kept his eyes alert, as did Morris, circling high above them for any sign of trouble, but they needn't have worried. It was a journey without incident, and that was a problem in itself.

What Ness mistook in Rachel and Marik as a raw and focused determination was something else entirely. Quietly, Rachel Ashbury marched behind Ness. She did her best not to look back at Marik, the introverted Sorceror who had refused to speak to her; refused to trust her enough to even budge that much.

As for Marik, he remained tight-lipped about his encounter with Rachel, managing to keep even his telepathically linked friend Morris in the dark about it. Walking behind them, he found it hard not to glance up at the young woman who he had hurt by his silence. In her, he saw something far worse than the disappointment she felt; he saw how truly shallow he'd been. And that stung him more than any look she could give.

The trail at last turned in towards the high rolling hills, and as they rounded one last bend, the travelers could at last make out a dark cave opening before them. It was partially boarded over, but they saw that a few of the boards had been pried loose and tossed aside, some snapped into pieces in the haste of the former passerby. The work was recent, too.

Ness knelt beside them, looking up to the entrance with a knowing gaze. "The Grey Shadow came through here, all right. And we're not as far behind him as I thought we were."

Marik folded his arms. "How dark do you think it's going to get down there?" Came Morris' chirp.

"Dark enough." Ness muttered, pulling out his longsword and hacking away at the rest of the boards. "You two remembered to bring torches, right?"

Rachel produced a regular torch, and Marik's Sorceror's hand dug in his bag until it found one with arcane markings about the base. Ness recognized Marik's, and whistled. "I didn't know you were that rich."

"He's not." Morris answered. "Marik just has a thing about being prepared…and a torch that never goes out is a part of the pattern."

Ness grunted with one last swing and shattered the final board barring their entry. "Fenderson's Pass." He muttered, pulling out a torch of his own. "Say Marik, could you blast this with one of your spells and light it for me?"

"It'd be an awful waste of a spell, chief." Morris chuckled. "Besides, Marik can't light a torch with fire like that."

Ness blinked in surprise. "Really? I thought that went without saying. Mages make fire."

To this, Marik made a quick stabbing gesture at Ness, producing a thin line of blue ice crystals that soared out and struck his head. Ness stumbled back a bit, realizing as he reached a hand up that Marik had frozen his hair.

"Some make ice." Came the imp's smug reply. He fluttered behind Marik and stuck his hands in the Sorceror's haversack, coming out with a steel and flint. "Here, use this."

Laughing at the joke, Ness put his sword away and set to work lighting his oil-drenched torch. "You're horrible, Marik. When this melts, I'm going to be soaking wet."

Marik shrugged, and the imp just snickered. After a few seconds, enough sparks landed from Ness' efforts to catch the torch alight, and it soon crackled to full strength. Handing Morris back the steel and flint, Ness lit Rachel's torch and drew his blade back out.

The fire emboldened the swordsman, and he looked to his comrades with a stern gaze. "This is it, then. No matter what's ahead of us…We face it together."

Rachel and Marik didn't reply to that, both too ashamed to look at each other. Ness let out a long breath and stepped into the gaping hole at the base of the hills. Rachel followed after him, then Marik and Morris.

They left the daylight behind them.

* * *

><p>The master of the caverns that Ness and his team were wandering into was wide awake when they ventured in, occupied in conversation with another trespasser into his domain.<p>

In the total darkness of what served as his study, he narrowed thin eyebrows over glowing red orbs and pressed his fingertips together, pondering the man before him.

"You make an interesting proposition." He purred. "Although I must say…I'm surprised you would be so bold and foolish as to approach a lord of the darkness in his own house."

_"Bold, yes. Foolish?" _The Grey Shadow chuckled, a strange hissing accompanying the small laugh. _"Something I've never been."_

His counterpart smiled, exposing his perfect, pale white teeth. "I could kill you right where you stand, you know. It has been so long since I have feasted on more than the rats and moles that still wander about, looking for morsels."

The Grey Shadow, his faceplate still on, shook his head. _"Oh, I doubt that, friend. And I wouldn't advise you to try me, either." _His pale counterpart leaned back in his chair, still smiling smugly.

The Grey Shadow knew it was a trap. He had sensed long ago that he and the man in front of him were not alone…And he had known what they were attempting to do. Even moving so quietly that the soft breeze in the tunnels didn't rustle, the Grey Shadow sensed the two minions of the preening beast before him.

He sprang from his seat easily, turning about and hurling a hidden dagger out of his sleeve and right into the face of the distant aggressor. The creature let out a howl of pain, clawing at its face as smoke rose from the wound. The second snarled and leapt towards him, but the Grey Shadow produced a pair of short swords that would have glimmered in brighter light and darted to the side of the rush, slashing at his opponent as he passed. The attacker collapsed to the ground…Headless, for the serrated edge of his first shortsword had done its work.

Stunned, the formerly impetuous master of the caverns watched as the Grey Shadow hefted the head of his underling and put his swords away, reaching a clawed and monstrous hand up to his faceplate. _"Tsk…And here I thought better of you. Perhaps a little demonstration of my…dedication…will shake you back to your rational senses."_

An observer there might have commented that the lord of the darkness was beyond fear. But horror and fear was what stood on his pale, bloodless face all the same when the Grey Shadow removed his faceplate and revealed the true monster underneath. Hissing in anticipation, he opened his mouth wide and bit down through the skull of the once-human, relishing and growing stronger by the life force he drained from within.

A few seconds later, the Grey Shadow tossed the empty husk aside and reattached his faceplate, walking over to the first of his aggressors and yanking out the dagger that burned into the thing's face. Whimpering, the pitiful creature vanished back into the shadows to heal.

The Grey Shadow turned back to the leader of the forces in the caverns, only his cold white eyes showing through again. _"Now, then. What was that about killing me?"_

The pale-faced creature before him slowly shook his head. "N…Nothing."

_"Good. It seems you _**can**_ learn humility, beast." _The Grey Shadow said darkly. _"So, then. Back to my proposition."_

The pale-skinned man stood up, all pretension lost in the presence of a demon far worse than he. "You are being pursued by a man called the Cursed Blade…who likely has friends with him. And you wish my servants and I to do away with them in this darkness. Is that all?"

The Grey Shadow nodded. _"I know that he's still coming, so I've left a trail to lead him here. He will die at your hands. As for what you do with them, the manner of his demise, and the deaths of any fool stupid enough to go with him…I'll leave that in your hands." _He paused to observe the sorry creature. _"You look as though you need a good meal. And I promise you, the Cursed Blade may be tough and gamey…But the determination in his veins will make him all the sweeter a catch." _

The lord of the darkness seemed to agree. "It has been many years since men were foolish enough to brave my home. I will…welcome the diversion." He glanced up at the Grey Shadow, recovering his composure. "But of course, what will you offer besides their lives to sate me? I do not take orders."

The Grey Shadow laughed at that, shaking his head with more of the same hissing sound. _"Even in death, you're still driven by greed, is that it? Very well. Your bravado will reward you…this time." _He warned darkly, reaching into his shroud and pulling out a pouch of money. He threw it onto the table in front of him, and it crashed open, revealing a small cache of gold and silver coins. _"Of course…If I discover you let them pass just to spite me, I shall return to you some day, in your miserable eternal existence…and your greedy little unlife will meet a short and painful end."_

The vampire lord nodded slowly as he collected the coins, his bright red eyes flickering in the darkness up to his 'employer'. "Very well…Then I shall just have to make sure that it never comes to that." He waved his hand dismissively. "Begone, you terror of the world above. You have no place in my domain, so take your leave and let us rest."

_"Kill them." _The Grey Shadow said warningly, lifting up an all too dangerous finger. _"Kill them all."_

He whispered a few nonsensical and archaic words, then vanished from sight.

The vampire lord shook his head, shuddering a bit as the beast left him. "Come, my child." He finally said, his voice somehow echoing about the lifeless caverns.

The surviving lackey of his, his face healing from the injury of the silver dagger that the Grey Shadow had struck him with, took a knee. "What are your orders, master?"

To this, the red-eyed lord of the caverns gave but one answer.

"Awaken our slaves. We have guests coming."

* * *

><p>The tunnels had once been well-maintained, though it was clear to Ness after a while that they were descending into an abandoned domain, true to the stories. The torches that Rachel and Ness held flickered a faint orange glow off of the walls around them, and Marik trailed behind them, staying close enough to keep them in sight. Morris darted out ahead of them, grimfaced and vigilant as he stared with devil eyes that pierced the darkness.<p>

Rachel looked over curiously to old and broken wood and machinery that dotted the edges of the tunnel they were going through. "Just what is all this?" She wondered aloud, tightening her red scarf about her shoulders a little more.

Ness glanced back to her. "Carts and shelves brought in by the alcohol runners . You're looking at all the junk they left behind."

"I remember hearing about that." Morris spoke up, passing on Marik's voice. "They almost had a war over that import tariff before King Samael the 84th changed his stance."

Staring a little closer, Rachel could make out the finer details of broken wheel spokes and splintered casks. "Aha." She murmured. "And then once the tariff ended…there was no reason to keep using these tunnels, right?"

"Tunnels and caverns." Ness corrected her, as they moved out of the long entrance tunnel and into a great cavernous opening.

Morris whistled appreciatively, his glimmering black eyes able to make out nearly every detail of the open void around them. Ness and Rachel struggled to see beyond the reach of their torchlight. "Holy…It's like they hollowed out a hill in here! You could entertain dragons in this place!"

"You're joking, of course." Ness reprimanded the imp. "There haven't been dragons on Ashra since…Since a long time ago." He paused halfway through his sentence, nodding his head reverently. "And a good thing too."

Rachel looked towards the distant Morris, beyond the reach of her torchlight. "You can see in this darkness?"

"I'm an imp. Of course I can." Morris called back stubbornly. "But don't worry, you're not missing much. This cavern is mostly empty."

"Mostly?"

"Well, it looks like there's some kind of a stone tablet in the ground near the back, and there's a few animal bones around…looks like some rats and moles have died in here in the past." Morris called down. "All in all, that's about it."

His voice echoed through the chamber for a few moments, causing Ness to involuntarily shiver. "I hate caves." The swordsman mumbled, looking around. "Always so damn quiet."

Then the four heard something that made the cave suddenly anything but quiet. A quiet rumbling reverberated off of the wet cavern walls, then a few moments later came the sound of shuffling feet…and long, baleful moans.

Rachel felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she turned to Ness. "Just what was that?"

Marik stepped into the light beside him, growling fiercely as his unseen hands moved in motions towards them all. A suffusing green glow overcame Ness and Rachel, and the swordsman recognized the spell, for he'd had it cast on him before.

"Marik, why are you shielding us with your magic?"

Morris fluttered down, grimfaced. "Because we'll be needing it." The green glow fell on Marik and Morris both as the imp landed on Marik's shoulder. "I've got a question for you. What is so horrible that even after you've killed it, it keeps coming back?"

"Your jokes." The healer responded, feeling a very real need to have a bit of humor in what was beginning to be a less than wonderful situation.

The shuffling came closer, and Marik turned around and shot off two unerring bolts of magical force, which soared on into the darkness and impacted onto something that hit the ground with a wet thump.

Ness's expression was ashen. "Marik, just what did Morris see out there?"

The imp glared at Rachel. "Can you make a magical light?" From Marik's seemingly bottomless haversack, he produced a small glass charm.

The girl nodded.

"Then do it!" The imp urged, flying over to her and dangling the bauble. Fighting off her racing heart and rising sense of panic, the girl bestowed the bead with a whispered prayer and a touch of her finger. It came alight, and Morris soared off, dragging the infused crystal in tow.

Hovering high above the danger, the glass bead revealed what was the source of the shuffling and moaning.

A pack of more than a dozen badly decomposed bodies was slowly ambling towards them.

Rachel gasped. Ness swore. And Marik, as always, said nothing. In the distance, Morris' voice echoed back to them.

"They smell bad, they hurt worse, and their only reason for existence is to kill anything that moves into their territory." Came Morris's voice, carrying over the words Marik wouldn't say himself. "And guess what, friends? We just broke down their front door."

Rachel could begin to smell the rotting flesh as they came closer. "I think I'm beginning to understand why they stopped using this place." She said, raising her hands up and casting a quick blessing that settled on the shoulders of all her teammates.

Ness tightened his grip on his longsword. "Aye, Rachel. So am I."

* * *

><p>Up above, the imp let out a weak laugh. "Lord, they didn't even bother to put on fresh clothes. I guess they were just <em>dying <em>to meet us!"

Ness would have glared at the imp if he wasn't distracted by the pack of undead, now fifty feet away from them. "Not now, Morris!" He sent their healer a furtive glance out of the corner of his eye. "Luckily, we have Rachel along with us. Go ahead, Miss Ashbury. Scatter them with your divine might."

The girl looked at him as if he was stupid. "I can't." She exclaimed.

Ness' eyes went wide. "What? What do you mean you can't sunder the undead?!"

Rachel threw a hand up in the air. "I can't, all right? Only Wyndspeakers could do that in The Realm!"

Inside of his hood, Marik rolled his eyes and began to growl, envisioning a manifestation of his magical powers he hadn't yet tried.

Ness was horrified. "Well, this is a fine time to be finding this out! Just what kind of healer are you?!"

To this, the young woman recovered from her dismay and gave him a glower. Angrily, she turned back towards the distant zombies and slashed towards the leader with her first three fingers extended. Out of the nothingness in front of it, a cloud of glimmering light suddenly appeared and struck out at the walking corpse. Ness recognized it as a healing spell, but against the undead, the powers of life were harmful. It let out a stuttering groan and collapsed, a lifeless body once more. She set her free hand to her hip and glared daggers at Ness. "The best kind, Ness. And don't you ever forget it."

In the midst of their conversation, Marik had finished his growling and circular gestures, and a fiery glowing globe half his size appeared in front of him. It hit the ground and took off rolling, the manifested fire homing in on the zombies. That in itself would have been impressive enough of an effect. Marik, however, had been taught that it wasn't how powerful a spell was, but how you used it that made you an effective mage, so he added one last step.

His glowing green Sorceror's hand appeared behind it in a flash, diving underneath the fiery orb and lifting it clear of the ground. Slow and singleminded, the zombies didn't stand a chance. Directed by his will, the magical hand kept a firm grip on the orb's surface, ignoring the heated flames, and shoved it into the upper torso and face of the lead zombie. The rotted flesh caught fire and the beast collapsed motionless, still aflame. Marik paused to glance over to his two teammates, and Morris laughed from up ahead, still lighting the horde for them to see.

Ness blinked at the Sorceror with a frown. "I thought Morris said you couldn't make fire."

"I said it'd be an awful waste of a spell!" The imp shouted through the darkness, still laughing. "Now are you going to stand there all day, or are we going to clean house with these fleshbags?!"

Ness felt a newfound confidence in that, and torch and sword in hand, he rushed towards the zombies. Of course, by then their numbers had dwindled by four, two smoldering by the globe of fire Marik guided, and two more blasted back into lifelessness from the curative efforts of Rachel.

"Back into the grave with you, beast!" Ness roared, overcoming the stench and slashing ferociously at a zombie who came too close for comfort. The next one who lunged in towards him had a torch shoved into his face, and Ness hacked its head off in the confusion. On occasion, one would get close enough to strike at him, but their feeble blows scraped off of the protective green aura around him, or failing that, scraped harmlessly on his chainmail.

After a time, he noticed that the glowing sphere of fire Marik had been controlling had snuffed out…and that Rachel even was no longer casting. He backpedaled a few feet away from the zombies, looking back to his two associates. "Why did you stop?"

Rachel gave the man a bemused smile, resting her torch atop a folded arm. "Because you can handle the rest yourself. They haven't even touched you yet." Marik offered a similar gesture, an openhanded shrug. Though, Ness noticed, the Sorceror still kept his Sorceror's hand flying about. The hand pointed back, and Ness looked.

Their reason for stopping became apparent very quickly. Only four of the original overwhelming pack was still standing. They had blasted, burned, and hacked their way through the rest.

Ness had to smile, and he looked at the glowing green hand Marik controlled. "Excuse me, but would you be willing to hold my torch for a bit?" The hand waved at him, then unfolded its palm, waiting. Ness dropped the torch into it, letting Marik's conjuration hold it aloft.

Ness was still smiling when the last four came shambling over to him.

In a few moments, Rachel and Marik had turned what could have been a very horrible end to their quest into a humorous escapade. While he was still dismayed that Rachel could not chastise the undead, as he thought all of her kind could, she had proven to be effective in other ways. As for Marik and Morris, as quiet as they were, there was a warmth to them that shone through in adversity.

The hand and torch shot on ahead, catching the zombie in the back of the pack on fire before withdrawing away as it swung with a groan. Ness, bathed in the light of the glass bauble Morris held above them, gripped his longsword in both hands.

Only yesterday, Ness had confessed that he thought his companions might die in his chase after the Grey Shadow. But now?

"Not today." Ness exhaled, roaring and charging at the nearest zombie. He slashed across its chest with a ferocious blow, severing it in half. Even then, as it was collapsing, he had stepped over to the next, only two feet away, and hacked its arm off before it could strike. "Not today!"

The hand bearing the torch floating with him seemed to agree, and continued to burn the same zombie it had been working with. The horror finally groaned and fell dead.

Ness felt the disarmed zombie try to bite at his arm, but the green energy surrounding him glowed all the brighter and repelled the attack. "Go back to your grave." Ness hissed at it, swinging with another full blow that cleaved it from shoulder to waist. The last one moved up, but the torch and Ness' blade struck at the same time, and it collapsed, its severed head smoldering from the flames.

Ness just stood there, breathing in and out for a few moments, more energized than he had been in a long time. It didn't matter that some of the decomposing tissue and sour fluids from the horde had spattered across his armor and gotten on his green cloak. He turned and looked back to Marik and Rachel, and gave a nod of his head.

The girl smiled and nodded back. "I knew you could finish them off."

"Aye." Ness said, putting his sword away and taking the torch back from Marik's green hand, which disappeared soon after. "But it could have gone differently, if the two of you weren't here to stand by me." He began to walk towards them, and the hovering light Morris held aloft followed.

Rachel looked up to the light. "Morris, is there anything else coming?"

"Not as far as I can tell!" The bouncing light exclaimed. "You cleaned out the graves, and then some!"

Ness resumed his place beside his comrades, stern and focused. "Well, now we know why Fenderson's Pass was marked off-limits."

Morris threw a furtive glance back towards the direction that the zombies had appeared from. "There was some writing on that stone tablet I saw back there. I wasn't able to get a good look at it, though."

The adventurers made their way into the back of the cavern, where just as Morris had described it, a stone marker lay half buried. The dirt around it showed where the zombies had crawled from, and Ness knelt down to the marker.

"It's a gravestone." He said calmly, looking up to his comrades. "Standard writing, I think, but it's a little faded." He wiped some of the grime from it, carefully reading the engraved script on the front. "Here lie the men of Thomas Fenderson, killed by greed." Ness blinked and stood back up. "Thomas…Fenderson? You don't think they named this route after him?"

Marik shrugged, letting Morris do the talking. "You know, I think I remember hearing something once about a man named Fenderson. And yes, there was something peculiar about it." The Sorceror shook his head, unable to connect to it. "If I remember anything, I'll let you know."

"See that you do." Ness said, settling his hand on the blade of his longsword. "Communication is important down here."

"Yes." Rachel said quietly, looking to the Sorceror with a blank and peculiar expression. "It is."

For a change, Ness caught the look, and found it chilling. The warm smile that had graced her youthful face only moments before had vanished. It seemed to the swordsman that Marik somehow took all happiness and life out of her, for some reason he did not know.

Shaking his head, hoping he was seeing things, Ness Benson wiped a few flecks of goo and fleshy ooze off of his cloak and turned away from the gravestone.

"Stay alert." He ordered, as the imp took off ahead dragging the tiny but powerful light trapped within Marik's glass charm. "While a handful of those undead were here, chances are we'll find worse farther in before we reach the exit."

Finding little else in the cavern of interest, the Grey Shadow's pursuers pressed on, torches in hand and floating light with flying imp ahead. They never bothered to look back, reassured by Morris' adamant belief that the first cavern was empty.

It was; of that much, Morris Redtail had been correct.

But he had failed to glance back into the tunnels they had just come from. Had he done so, he would have observed in the total darkness a creature of evil unlike any he and Marik had faced yet.

A pair of hungry red eyes licked out from the tunnel's darkness, his sharp eyes having watched every detail of their battle against the zombies. His master had told him to expect anything. And yet…

The presence of a very capable swordsman, a towering mage of some strength, a foulmouthed little winged devil, and a young girl who shone with the powers of life went beyond expectations. They were cause for genuine worry.

Closing his eyes for several long moments, the servant of the vampire lord felt himself slipping into the endless shadows around him. Once there, he stepped through the caverns at lightning speed, and with impunity. His master had to be informed.

The Grey Shadow had promised troublesome, but relatively easy prey.

It was becoming clear that was not the case now.

* * *

><p>Minutes later, Ness and his companions emerged into another large cavern in the pass, their torchlight reaching out into the darkness, but failing to penetrate it all.<p>

Ness glanced up to the floating bauble of light that indicated where Morris Redtail fluttered, wrinkling his nose at a sudden odor in the room. "Ugh. Tell me that what you're seeing is better than the smell here."

The tiny bauble of light panted, getting tired from hefting the glass charm and flying for so long. "It looks like this used to be a dining area. There's long tables up against the walls, and I'm seeing some torch racks bolted into the stone. I can…it looks like a storage shed, maybe a pantry in the back. Geez, my arms are getting tired. I think I'm going to have to land for a bit."

The swordsman nodded, trying to keep his wits about him. "Anything else?"

"It's pretty dark in here. A lot of rubble, and probably some old, rotting food." Morris panted.

"Go ahead and rest then." Ness said up to the flying light. "You've done enough for us for now." Down came the bauble, twinkling gently in the darkness to land on Marik's shoulder, and the imp sighed.

"I'm out of shape." He bemoaned, pulling his tired wings against the back of his specially tailored shirt and vest. "When we get out of here, I swear I'm flying laps with weights. Swear on Sulhorrith's wrath, I will." The mention of a lord of the Depths might have seemed sorely out of place, save for Morris' place of origin. Rachel catalogued the name without comment, and Ness was too busy recovering from the wince he had given at the words _When we get out of here._

He shook his head and glanced over to Marik. "Observant, think you can do that…hand trick again?" The Sorceror tilted his hood to the side for a moment, a gesture clearly visible in the glow of the glass charm Morris still carried. Only a moment later it appeared, floating over to Ness and hovering quietly.

Ness held out his torch and tried to ignore the hand's extra finger. "Use this and see if you can't light some of those racks in this room. Some more light would be preferable, I'm thinking."

The hand bobbed up and down in agreement, taking hold of the offered flame-soaked rod and flying it across the room towards the hidden walls.

They all watched as the torch's light finally revealed a brazier on the wall, quiet and forgotten with age. Gently, Marik dipped the edge of the flame down to the top of the structure, gaining a sudden flare of light in reward as the aged decoration began to burn again.

Ness nodded approvingly. "Good. Look for any others." He wrinkled up his nose again, coughing. "Gods, does it ever smell in here!"

Rachel frowned, looking around the empty air. She was not as far in as Ness was, so the smell was minimal…but something she was somehow familiar with. "It smells like rotted meat." She determined, narrowing her eyes. Another torch lit up from Marik's efforts, and a third shortly thereafter. The room began to glow with torchlight, and she could finally make out the silhouettes of the long tables Morris had mentioned. "But…If these caves have been abandoned for years…"

"It's getting awfully strong!" Ness complained, looking back towards his companions. Rachel blinked a few more times, then a line of shock hit her.

She extended her hand out towards Ness. "Rosequeen, give his sword light!" Their healer cried out, and the glimmering motes dashed through the air from her fingertips, going to work.

Marik paused as he lit the last torch around the room's perimeter, glancing towards the target of her minor cantrip. Her minor spell and the torches revealed the cause of her dismay in the same moment, and made Ness suddenly scream in horror.

Crawling not five feet from him along the surface of one of the tables, a horrid mass of rotting, stinking skin and bone hissed at the swordsman.

"Gods have mercy, it's a ghoul!" Ness stammered, resisting the urge to retch as he stumbled backwards. The beast opened its massive jaws, a putrid stench rising up from its stomach as it leapt towards him. Ness slashed at it ferociously, doing little damage but forcing it to retreat away from him.

Morris jumped off of Marik's shoulder again, hovering out and up above the scene. "We're not alone…" The imp snarled. Sure enough, forms that he had previously mistaken for piles of trash and stone began to shift and rise, their hunger rising as they smelled living flesh. "Crackers, they're everywhere!"

"More undead." Rachel whispered. She began to prepare another one of her spells of healing, knowing that they would cause injury to their undead forms. "Ness! Be careful!"

"Blast it, girl, I know that!" Ness bellowed, slashing across the first ghoul's arm with a deep gash. The thing hissed angrily and tried to bite at him, but the buffering aura Marik had put on him held firm, and the ghoul backed away, unwilling to risk a more damaging blow from the sharp sword of his attacker.

Four more rose from about the lair, climbing up from underneath the tables and looking at their prey with dead, hungry white eyes. "Morris, can you sting them, slow them down?!" Rachel shouted, hurling her spell at Ness' ghoul. The healing magic exploded with volatile force in its dead body and it shrieked in pain, burned from the inside out. Ness roared and swung at it again, cleaving the thing's right arm and a large portion of its shoulder off.

Morris, still carrying their mobile light, laughed. "Are you serious?! Rachel, they're dead! My venom doesn't work on things that aren't breathing!"

None of that seemed to matter all that much to the rest of the ghouls, who charged at them, running across the tables with a great bout of hissing.

They stopped short of launching themselves onto Ness when a globe of fire, cast by the slower to act Sorceror appeared before them. It rolled out and skated along the nearest tables, igniting the ancient dry wood in moments. It turned about and slammed into the nearest ghoul. The thing shrieked in pain as the flames began to devour it.

"Good work, Marik!" Ness shouted, finally driving his blade through his ghoul and splitting it into two unmoving halves. Once again managing to resist the foul stench of the beasts, he turned and looked towards the fires spreading across the tables. They acted as a barrier to the ghouls' approach, for even while hungry, none of them with what little animalistic instinct they had were willing to brave the flames, one of the few things that could truly harm them to any degree. "Rachel, let them have it!"

"You don't need to tell me twice!" The girl panted, firing off another blast of her healing light. The ghoul Marik had caught alight shrieked as it burned, then fell dead, overwhelmed by the tremendous positive energy she had forced on it. "How many more of these things are there?"

Morris looked towards them. "Three left!"

Ness let out a loud, hearty laugh. "The two of you…I swear, does nothing slow you down?"

Later, Ness would make a resolution to never invite such disaster by speaking so hastily ever again. Another set of eyes, high above them all and clinging to the ceiling, watched with morbid fascination at their handiwork. Not even the watchful Morris had seen him, too focused on what crawled on the ground to care about what was above him.

Marik's concentration was on the ball of fire, which, Ness' torch discarded, he controlled with his Sorceror's hand once again. Ness' was on the fires in front of them, and the remaining flesh-eating creatures. Rachel was just as distracted.

When the creature clinging to the ceiling dropped behind the Calyssan and crushed her arms against her sides with one broad arm, surprise was the order of the day. She cried out, terror gripping at her as strongly as her attacker. On cue, Ness and Marik whirled about.

"I wouldn't move." Their new foe hissed, baring long fangs and squeezing her a little tighter. His hand came up to cover her mouth, and the frightened girl let out a muffled whimper of dismay. Ness started, but the monster scraped a fang along her throat, prompting a squeak from the healer.

Ness glowered at him. "You…you damned monster…"

The pale-skinned man laughed at that, grazing a cold tongue along her delicate throat. "Heh…Arms pinned at your side, your mouth covered, unable to speak…No, you won't be blasting me with any of your spells today, missy." He threw a warning glance to the tall Sorceror. "And if you so much as twitch, I'll snap her pretty little neck, you hear me?"

"Vampire." Ness snarled. "It had to be a vampire."

"Something like that." The man chuckled, looking beyond Ness to the hissing ghouls. "My friends are very hungry, mortal. And you've only made them angry…"

He began to back away, and a frantic Rachel struggled in his grasp, screaming into his hand. The man's eyes rolled back into his head, and pulling Rachel's head to the side, he buried his fangs into her soft swan neck.

He only had the chance to drain some of her blood before another voice, one that the fanged fiend had forgotten about, piped up with shrieking intensity. "Get away from her, you beast!" Too late, the vampire looked up to see a fluttering imp hurl itself down towards him, tail extended out. It surprised him, for he had been counting on the approach of the crystal and magical light the creature had been carrying to warn him of danger…but the crystal charm was falling towards the ground, discarded in an instant.

He could not withdraw his fangs quick enough, and his arms locked around her, he could not defend himself as well as he would have liked. The sharp, barbed tail of Morris sunk into his eye, gouging it out in an instant just before the wicked claws of the beast claimed the second.

Roaring in pain, the bloodsucker reeled backwards away from Rachel, clutching at his eyes and swinging wildly at the imp who had attacked him. Rachel stumbled away, her cheeks pale from the life he had stolen from her. She wasted no time, knowing inaction was deadly.

"Rosequeen, guard me well…Make this land yours!" She rasped, falling to a knee and a hand as her magic reached out. She reached her other hand into her satchel, pulling out a small pouch and hurling it into the air above her. The glow of her magic absorbed it, exploding it apart, revealing a snowfall of silvery dust that expanded around her, falling to earth. The ground glowed brightly for a long moment, and the vampire spawn hissed and retreated further, unwilling to brave the effects of the place.

Morris fluttered beside her, worried. "Rachel, are you going to be all right?" He asked. Weakly, she stifled the vertigo she felt and brushed him away, reaching for her first vial of healing potion she had brewed the day before.

"I'll be fine…Worry about those ghouls!" She uttered, downing the green, clove-flavored substance and feeling better instantly.

Ness needed no further direction, and picking up his torch that Marik had dropped by him, he glared back to the remaining corpses. Marik caught another one on fire with his fiery sphere before it finally snuffed out. "I'll kill them all!" The swordsman roared, jumping onto the burning table and running into the midst of two of them. The third had retreated, writhing as it burned to death.

Rachel turned about, enervated from her healing potion but now wary and cautious. The vampire spawn stood at the edge of her purified ground, glowering at her. His eyes had healed quickly, a fact that unnerved the Calyssan to no end.

"Oh, your blood was so sweet…" He hissed, offering her a sick smile. "But one taste isn't enough…No, I won't rest until I've taken every drop from your beautiful body." He examined her for a moment, his grin only widening. "Oh, you would make such a wonderful slave once I've killed you!"

"Not a chance." Rachel spat back bravely, mustering another healing spell in her hands. His eyes flickered for a moment, knowing the devastating potential of the curative blast that danced in her fingers.

"Oh, were you going to try and throw that on me, I wonder?" He snarled, trying to step into her consecrated ground, but stepping back as the Rosequeen's light weakened his strength. "Why won't you?"

Defiantly, Rachel pointed her hand away from the vampire spawn and towards the ghouls behind her, struggling beyond the reach of the fire. She loosed the spell, and it struck at the last ghoul Marik had caught alight with the remains of his fiery sphere.

The vampire spawn's dark eyes glittered angrily at her. "You'll pay for that, girl. You have no spell to rebuke me now!" He snarled, stepping into the consecrated ground. Suddenly frightened, Rachel began to step away from him. Enraged enough to brave the weakness the earth instilled, he pressed on, raising his clawed hands and baring his fangs for another strike.

Rachel's gloved hand went down to her side, but not to her satchel for another healing potion or other trinket. Instead, she pulled forth the miniaturized crossbow Ness had purchased for her in Sanderson's Falls. Drawing it up, she narrowed an eye and fired the loaded bolt in one smooth action. It caught the bloodsucker completely off guard. The metal and wood buried into the back of his throat, making him cough and clutch at the injury. He stumbled backwards, choking on it. The wound refused to heal, and he realized that the same consecrated ground he stood on had stopped his healing, the same as it weakened him.

Grimly, Rachel lowered the crossbow. "That was for biting me." Rasping at her, the fanged monster backpedaled out of the consecrated ground, his wound beginning to heal as soon as he emerged from the holy space. Not one to waste the moment, she turned and ran towards Ness and Marik, hoping that they could resolve their own minor scuffle in time to join with her against the all too furious, and quickly healing vampire spawn.

Marik and Ness had listened well to Rachel's plea for them to continue, and the two had set to work with further gusto. While Ness fought against one of the ghouls, Marik had evoked another one of his fireballs, and chased the hissing ghoul about the room with it. It screeched angrily every time the ball of fire buried itself into its skin, trying desperately to get away. Trapped by the flames of the table, it could not charge and attack Marik without risking further injury, something that the glaring Sorceror was counting on. Just before his spell ran out again, he managed one last glancing blow across the ghouls' face. It wobbled once and fell, never to move again. The ball of fire snuffed out, leaving his magical hand to hover alone once again.

Morris landed on his shoulder. "Rachel's in trouble." The imp muttered tersely, the glowing crystal charm dangling from his neck again. Wide-eyed, Marik turned about and looked behind him. Sure enough, the girl was running towards him, a hint of panic on her face. The bite mark on her neck had faded, but she seemed weaker somehow after it. The vampire spawn, having darted around the ground she had consecrated in a moment of defense, now rose up behind her, hissing angrily.

_No…_

At the same moment, Ness concluded his battle with the ghoul. Even as the flames from his torch kept it back, he managed a quick and cutting blow into the side of its neck, his blade passing through putrid flesh and bone and coming out below the creature's armpit. It fell to the ground, dead as everything around it. He turned about, flushed and enervated to see Marik charging towards a fleeing Rachel, and the vampire spawn hot on her heels. That would have been bad enough, but he felt his curse beginning to take hold again…Another creature dropped from the ceiling, behind Marik with the curtain of flame separating the swordsman from his friends. It cackled for a long moment, its skin the same pale off-white of the vampire spawn…but its dress and finery, and greater presence made Ness' blood run cold.

It was stronger than their first bloodsucking foe. A true vampire.

"No…" Ness croaked, realizing that even if he moved now, the undead monsters would have his friends pinned and eliminated before he could do a thing about it.

The vampire lifted an emaciated hand up in the air, a black crystal the size of an eye clutched between his fingers. Darkness rose up out of it, expanding outwards until it had swallowed Marik, Rachel, and the vampire's kin. His work done, the vampire melted into the shadows and disappeared as soon as he had come. Now, Ness finally screamed.

"Rachel! Marik!"

Rachel had seen the vampire appear behind their hooded Sorceror, grinning and malevolent…that had been the last thing she had seen, actually, before a wave of darkness overcame her, blinding the girl completely. Not even the magical light she had put into the small crystal Morris carried survived it, snuffed out in an instant by the power of the overwhelming black gloom. Then came Ness' scream from somewhere in front of her, and stumbling in the darkness, whirling about and losing all bearing, Rachel felt the icy grip of the vampire spawn as he shoved her to the ground, hissing in her ear.

Shutting her eyes tight in fear, for they did her no good open, Rachel felt his tongue reach out and scrape along her throat again. "Scream for me." He laughed, burying his fangs into her neck again. Feeling her blood leave her veins a second time, Rachel whimpered.

Somebody else screamed for her.

_"You will not __**take her**__!"_ Came a ferocious rasp, a hiss underneath it all that jarred her mind from thoughts of death. There was a sharp whistling sound followed by two concussive impacts…Marik's magical bolts, Rachel remembered briefly in the haze of her mind. The bloodsucker grunted from the blow, stumbling away from her. Weak and dizzy, Rachel collapsed onto the ground, still as blind as ever in the sudden darkness.

Swift footsteps dashed by her, followed by an inhuman roar of pain and panic, and the unusual sound of a sword sliding out, launched by a spring's tension. Then there came a hiss, a slash, and the vampire spawn screamed in pain, louder than he had ever screamed yet.

To Ness, all that happened beyond his sight, and he was left staring anxiously towards the globe of pure darkness that enveloped his friends. Just as the vampire spawn screamed out, fluttering wings carried a dashing Morris Redtail out of the darkness, the light shining from his crystal snapping back to life the moment he emerged. He flew next to Ness, eyes wide. "Run!"

"Where?!" Ness demanded, the vampire spawn's screaming lessening after several seconds. Quickly, the imp pointed towards the small shack on the opposite side of the cavern hall, still illuminated by the functioning braziers about.

"In there, chief!"

"But Marik and Rachel…"

"They're coming, just move it!" The imp shrieked, charging on ahead. Biting his lip and hoping, the swordsman charged along the wooden tables and past the burning, slashed corpses of the defeated ghouls towards safety.

He only hoped that Morris' confidence was well placed.

In spite of her dizziness, Rachel remembered to reach for her second vial of healing potion. She pulled it out of her satchel and uncorked it, downing it quickly and swallowing without tasting. Relief came soon after, but did little for the fatigue she felt. Even now, she could still make out the vampire and what she could only assume was Marik and Morris struggling against it. Grunting, she pushed herself up, tuning her ears to try and pinpoint where they were coming from.

The vampire hissed and flew by her, slashing angrily across her back in an attack she couldn't see coming. It never hit, though, for another figure jumped behind her, enveloping her in strong arms. The vampire spawn screeched and hit home with his claws, landing a blow that pierced the green aura along Marik's sleeve. The mage let out a grunt of pain.

Dazed, Rachel realized the figure who had suddenly held her against him wasn't the vampire. "M…Marik?" She managed, stunned.

_"Are you all right?"_ Came the voice, somehow distorted. Confused as she was, she thought it Morris, a little raspy in the throat.

"I…I've been better." She managed weakly.

_"We have to go. __**Now**__."_ The voice of her rescuer growled, and she found herself being lifted up and slung over a shoulder. She yelped, and soon found herself being taken along at tremendous speed.

Out of nowhere, her sight returned to her, and she realized the reason why as a large sphere of darkness filled her vision. Hot on their heels was the snarling and enraged vampire spawn, the side of his face and his shoulder smoking from a powerful blow.

Rachel shut her eyes to squints, holding herself tighter to the form of the black-enshrouded Sorceror who had pulled her out. "Calyssa, help us." She whispered.

But Marik moved swiftly, even with Rachel's weight. From time to time, the spawn would get close enough to try and land a blow, but each time a vicious wild slash from Marik's springloaded longsword sent it stumbling backwards, flinching from the blade. They charged through the burning fires of the edge of the tables, and then across the long abandoned tables themselves.

"Hurry up!" Came the frantic voice of Ness, somewhere ahead of them. Marik slowed suddenly, and Rachel found herself passed off to the stronger hands of the swordsman, pulling her into a small shack.

"Get her in! He's coming fast!" Morris howled, darting beside her.

Rachel opened her eyes all the way, focusing again. She was in a shack with Morris and Ness, and Marik stood outside, barring the way with his imposing height. His springloaded longsword hung down at his right side waiting to strike.

The vampire spawn was hurtling through the air at tremendous speed, and Rachel realized there was no way Marik could duck inside the hut and get the door shut before their pursuer would be on top of him. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized what the stubborn Sorceror had planned.

"Oh no." Ness whispered, realizing Marik's plan at just the same moment.

Marik's green Sorceror's hand swung reappeared beside him in a flash and slammed the door of the shack pantry shut…Leaving Marik outside.

"No!" Rachel screamed, trying to get up, only to fall back from dizziness a moment later. Ness was at her side, holding her close. Only Morris seemed unafraid, gnashing his teeth and beating his wings, still carrying the tiny light.

Left only with sounds, they listened to the battle outside anxiously.

The vampire spawn howled, coming in for a sweep…then suddenly stopping.

He screamed again, but no attack had hit him. "No! You're…"

Marik's longsword swung out with its whistle through the air, missing with no impact heard. The vampire spawn managed a weak laugh and attacked again, gaining a grunt from Marik in return.

The longsword stayed silent, but there came a different sound, something guttural and unbidden, almost a slurp. The creature screamed, his voice retreating into the distance as he fled.

Silence overcame them, and for a few long moments, the swordsman and healer wondered if Marik had survived the encounter.

The door swung open of its own volition, and their friend stood outside. His right arm hung limply at his side and his hood was slightly disheveled. It was Morris who pointed out what Ness and Rachel couldn't see right away.

"He got you pretty good, eh boss?" Morris laughed weakly. He handed the crystal of light to Rachel, tired of carrying the added weight. The Sorceror's hood slid left and right in a slow, tired motion, and his longsword retracted back into the depths of his sleeve. The fight over with, he stumbled inside the shack. His breathing was raspy and wheezing as he fell to the floor as far away from Ness and Rachel as he could get. A quick motion from his sleeve shut the door behind him.

"We'll be safe in here for a while." Morris said to their cohorts, diving towards Marik and digging about until he found the first of the Sorceror's two vials of healing potion. "Vampires can't come into closed structures without permission."

"What makes you so sure?" Ness questioned sharply.

Rachel rested her hand on Ness', silencing the complaint. "They kept us alive, didn't they? Just have faith in them. I believe them."

Ness exhaled, letting it pass. He turned to Marik, who was being force-fed the potion of healing by his imp familiar. Throughout the process, the dark enchanted hood of Marik Observant stayed up, keeping his appearance well veiled.

"Just what did you do to him out there, son?" Ness pressed, curious.

As the imp pulled the vial back, the Sorceror turned his hood's empty face to glance at the man.

Morris' beady black eyes were firm and knowing. "Scared him off."

"How?" Ness asked, disbelieving.

Morris thought over it for a moment, then plopped in Marik's lap, patted gently on the head by the glowing green hand of the tired, but partially healed Sorceror.

"He didn't like what he saw." The Sorceror and his devil let it drop at that, content to sit and rest for a while. Ness mulled over that in his head for a long moment, but eventually went back to worrying about other things.

Rachel realized something in those precious minutes of rest, though. Morris had been with Ness when Marik had dragged her out of that deadly trap.

It had been Marik who had spoke to her.

Not that he indicated it. The faceless Sorceror looked over to her, matching her wondering blue-eyed stare for but a moment before he looked away, embarrassed or ashamed.

Rachel closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. In all that darkness, he had found his voice.

Somehow, knowing he _could_ reach out to her made the drain the vampire had left with her easier to deal with.

* * *

><p>Outside of the crystal's light fading out, and Rachel having to call upon her powers to give it strength one more time, their stay in the shack was without incident. All were thankful for that, exhausted after the encounter with the ghouls, and the more frightening appearance of the vampires.<p>

"That vampire had some sort of gem in his hand…then everything went dark around you all." Ness recounted, as they began to piece together the puzzle. Rachel had gained enough of her strength back that she no longer needed to lean against the swordsman, and so she sat with her legs folded underneath her, doing her best to maintain her modesty in the cramped quarters with her long skirt.

Marik seemed to suffer the most from it; Even with his robed legs kept drawn up, the small quarters weren't conducive to his nearly six and a half feet of height. Morris sat on his shoulder, rubbing at his chin as he and Marik threw ideas and thoughts towards one another.

"I'll bet you anything that little gem of his was enchanted." The imp finally managed. "It's simple enough to drop a spell into a stone, but that thing probably wasn't meant to be used and discarded. That means, he might do it again."

"It's one hell of a trick." Ness muttered. "I couldn't see a blasted thing in there."

"Marik could." Rachel motioned to the Sorceror. "Thank goodness for that."

The swordsman chuckled, running a hand through his wild hair. "Another one of your hidden talents, Marik? Now you can see in darkness?"

The Sorceror stirred for a moment, and Morris coughed. "We came prepared, remember?" Morris dropped down into Marik's lap and began to pace back and forth briskly. "First zombies, then ghouls…And now vampires? Chances are there's more of these things. And I don't know about you, Rachel, but Marik's starting to run a little low on the old alley oomph."

The girl gave a weak nod. "It's a good thing I made those potions then. I'm wearing myself out going on the offensive. All my healing spells are deadly to the things we've gone up against so far. And that lesser vampire was afraid of it. But I hit him in the throat with my crossbow and he just shrugged it off and kept coming."

"Some of the creatures of the night are very…difficult to eliminate." Ness admitted.

The imp jumped over in the middle of them and nodded. "Exactly!" He exclaimed. "If you don't hit a vampire with just the right thing, they'll just pick themselves up and keep coming!"

Rachel crossed her arms. "Well, we know magic works on them."

Ness chuffed. "Aye, but what about those of us who don't have magic?"

Marik extended his arm away from his allies and twisted his wrist, rewarded with the familiar sound of his springloaded longsword snapping out and locking into place. Morris motioned towards it with one of his small arms.

"They don't like Marik's blade because it has silver."

Ness' face brightened. "Silver, you say?" He looked down to his sword. "Well, then this won't do me any good the next time we meet them…but this might." He produced the dirk he had purchased in Sanderson's Falls, and it glimmered faintly in the light of Rachel's cantrip.

Morris nodded. "Yeah, that would. Otherwise, Rachel is our best choice to stop them."

Ness frowned. "What about those fireballs of yours?"

"I can't make them explode, if you were going to ask that. Not yet, anyways." Morris said for Marik. The Sorceror's hand appeared, holding up two fingers. "And that's how many more I could probably cast. If I pushed myself."

Ness put a hand to his head, his fingers going up to his curly brown hair. "Well, isn't this a fine mess of things." He determined wearily. "Is there anything else either of you can do to make things better for us?"

As if on cue, the dim green light surrounding Marik, Rachel, and Ness disappeared, exhausted.

The Sorceror shrugged apologetically. "I could exhaust the majority of my strength to give us all that force aura back. I wouldn't be able to hurl any more magic bolts, though." Morris said for him.

Ness managed a weak chuckle, staring up to the ceiling. "Well, isn't this a fine boat, then. Trapped in Fenderson's Pass by vampires."

Marik tilted his head for a moment, then brought his green hand about to slap himself in the back of the head. The imp caught on quickly.

"You figured something out, boss?"

Marik nodded quickly, and Morris fell silent, receiving the mental transmission.

"…Of course!" He exclaimed. "My goodness, I can't believe we didn't remember it before!"

Rachel glanced over at them. "Didn't remember what before?"

"There _is_ an old tale about Fenderson's Pass. Well, obscure more than it is old…" The excited devil corrected himself. "Right after Marik and I first met, we were graced by a traveling minstrel out of Vandorne, Crannogh Heights' capital city. One of the stories he told us was a fable of woe and human misery…And you were right, Ness, they _did_ name this place after Thomas Fenderson."

Curious, and eager for the distraction, Rachel and Ness leaned in a little closer to the talkative winged devil. Carrying over the tale that Marik recounted, Morris began to wave his hands about, pantomiming as he went.

"Thomas Fenderson…see, back when this place was used as a smuggler's passage for spirits into Samael's Lands, he was the mercenary in charge of the entire affair. He was a bit of a crotchety fella, but his biggest flaw was his greed. He started sending more and more people through, and since the money was good, all the others working for him went with it. But that was the problem. They woke up something down in these caves…Near as the storyteller told it to us, it was a vampire that Fenderson's escapades jarred from his sleep. But Fenderson…? No, he didn't let a thing like that stop him. The money was too good, so he worked out a deal with the old bloodsucker. He'd send a man or two he wasn't particularly fond of down to some distant part of the caverns we're in, and then they'd up and disappear, and nobody would ever see them again. But they didn't go missing; Fenderson was giving the vampire free meals in exchange for safe passage."

The story was captivating, and Morris embellished it as only a tiny devil could. "So this goes on for a couple of years…people are getting scared of doing it, and the supply of men Fenderson has working with him begins to run dry. Less and less people are interested in going through with it, and then, when King Samael whatever his number was drops the import tariff? It's only Fenderson and what's left of his corps. The vampire makes his move; greedy as Fenderson, he drains the rest of 'em, then goes after Fenderson himself." The imp folded his arms. "Of course, one of the unlucky bastards makes it out to go tell the tale, elsewise we'd never have heard it. Nobody ever sees hide nor hair of Fenderson or his men ever again…and the vampire? Well, that's why they closed the place down. They kept it real hush-hush, or they tried to. The storyteller mentioned he could be facing some severe penalties if word ever got back to his guild about him blabbing the story. Nobody ever wants people to know they've got an undead problem, you know?"

Ness shook his head. "So that's what all this is about then. That vampire is the one who killed Fenderson, and everything else down here is what's left of his men. Sorry bastards."

Rachel harrumphed. "That doesn't change the fact they're trying to kill us and drain us dry of our life."

Morris nodded solemnly. "Naturally, but at least we know where they're from." The winged devil glanced around, pursing his lips. "I don't think any of us are carrying garlic, and running water is sort of out of the question down here…But do either of you have a holy symbol?"

Ness blinked at that. "No…No, I'm not usually a religious sort. I sort of clump all the gods together in my opinion."

Rachel dug around in her bag, pulling out a silvery medallion with Calyssa's mark on it. "I don't use it that often, though." She murmured. "It's not required for most of my spells."

"Well, we're not using it to call your goddesses' favor." The imp said plainly, still speaking for Marik. "If you hold that up and command them to stay back, they can't do a thing to harm you as long as you keep staring them down."

Ness chuckled. "And how do you know so much about this sort of thing? For that matter, how did you know that old story about Thomas Fenderson?"

The green hand of Marik shuffled around inside of his rucksack for a few moments before producing a small wooden symbol ignored for weeks.

Ness blinked, taking a moment to recognize it. "That's the symbol of Weyveliste."

"God of roads and travel." Morris said proudly.

"And Marik was raised by priests of Weyveliste." Rachel remembered.

"And bards, despite their convictions, all pay homage and associate with the Traveler's number, and one of the things they specialize in is knowing far more things than people usually do." Morris concluded. The green hand tossed the symbol to Ness. "You can use mine."

Ness caught it and frowned. "But I don't worship Weyveliste. You do."

"We're more worried about your safety than ours." Morris said plainly, reflecting the heavy nod from the Sorceror. "You don't need to be a patron for this to work. Just believe that it'll work, and it will."

Ness glanced over to Rachel, lifting an eyebrow. "Is he right?"

The girl brushed her hair back and offered a weak smile. "A funny thing about faith. In place of a lasting belief in a deity, faith in the power of an object or place can be just as potent. It will work well enough, Ness."

The swordsman chuckled. "So, then. Your idea is for us to keep these holy symbols out to ward off any vampires we find…And escape to the other side of these caverns?"

"Naturally." Morris said, puffing out his chest. "After all, retreat isn't an option, correct?"

The tired swordsman let out a long breath. "No, no it isn't." He admitted quietly. "Some days, I get you and Marik mixed up, Morris, and forget who's talking."

"Oh, that's easy." The devil said with a wink. "I'm the one with a sense of humor." The Sorceror's hand swatted playfully at him, and Morris darted out of the way with a laugh.

"And what if we meet anything else besides vampires and their kin farther in?" Rachel asked. "Holy symbols may work against their kind, but animated skeletons and decaying bodies are something else all together."

"Then we fight." Ness answered for Marik with a grim stare. "Not like we have a choice in the matter, my dear. They would chase after us even in retreat, and the Grey Shadow still lies ahead of us."

Rachel exhaled. "But between us, we only have three more healing potions. Marik has used one of his, and that vampire kin forced me to use mine."

Ness gave her one of his own. "So far, they've concentrated the most on you two. Take one of mine, and be the better for it. Please." Rachel held the small vial tightly in her hand, giving Ness a gentle smile.

"You'd better not get yourself in a position to need it back, Ness." The healer said, the expression on her face enervating them all.

"Farthest thought from my mind." The swordsman replied, winking at her. He thought about it a moment longer, then looked over to Marik with a curious stare.

"But…Marik, I have to ask. If Rachel has a holy symbol, and I have yours…just what will you use to ward them off?"

The Sorceror held up his right arm and shifted it slightly. Responding to the pull of the strings, his springloaded longsword, gleaming with gilded silver along the edges, sprang forth.

"My holy symbol bites." Came Marik's dry and solemn words through the usually jovial devil in front of him. "And its bite doesn't heal."

* * *

><p>Marik mustered together enough of his innate magic to give Ness and Rachel the auralike green protection they had been afforded in their trip through the caverns. He didn't afford another one for himself and Morris, stating as flatly as Morris could that to do so would exhaust the possibility of another set of magical bolts, and that was too handy a trick to lose.<p>

They ventured out back through the ruined eating hall, the fires still burning through the wooden tables as they continued on their way deeper into the course. Rachel and Ness kept torches in hand, the swordsman stubbornly gripping to his longsword, keeping his newly acquired silver dirk tucked out of view. Marik crept along behind them, and Morris flew on ahead, his keen eyes now darting in all directions and to the ceiling and back. Looking not only through the dark, but for emanations of evil, Morris ensured that they would not be ambushed again. To aid in his more concentrated flight, Marik's magical hand carried the crystal charm he had produced at the beginning of their trip, hovering it in the center of them all.

Despite the moment of levity they had had together in the shack, the precariousness of the danger yet to be faced kept them focused, faces tightly drawn. At any moment, they expected the vampire and his lesser kin to jump upon them with terrible force. But Morris' sharp eyes turned up nothing, and so they went on, the tunnels and caverns slipping by one by one. Twice, they met intersections that could have led them astray, making them even more lost. Rachel, the depth of her minor miracles not yet reached, called out to her goddess both times, confidently moving forward along one of the paths and continuing on without hesitation. Ness, not one to argue with her divining talents, plodded along, and Marik seemed relieved to be moving at all.

The path went like that for another two hours, Rachel leading them on and Morris keeping guarded watch above them, sensitive eyes sweeping in all directions. At last, they came to another intersection with two routes beyond the one they had come down. Ness turned to Rachel, the glowing light of Marik's bauble and his torch providing an odd counterbalance, revealing the hollows of his stubbly face.

"Well, Miss Ashbury, which direction do we proceed from here?"

The girl put a hand to her forehead, but failed to glean a solution. She gave Ness an apologetic stare, and the swordsman exhaled. "Well, you have been pushing yourself. It's all right, Rachel. Well, Morris? What can you see?"

"One path is quiet." The imp called down, his wings a gentle flutter in the still and dark air of the tunnels. "But the other…Marik, can I get a boost from that detection spell you know?" The Sorceror growled for a brief moment and waved a sleeve towards Morris, and the imp's eyes glowed faintly green.

He frowned, looking down. "There's two of 'em. Probably the same vampires we saw before. And there's magic in there. Quite a bit of it."

Ness frowned. "Casters? They have mages?"

"No." Morris said, rolling his eyes. "They have items. Believe me, if they had casters I would have mentioned it before."

Ness mulled it over. "Two…only two?"

"Trust me." Morris delivered curtly. "If there were more, I'd know. Nothing's going to get past my eyes."

Ness closed his eyes. "As much as I'd like to settle the score with that undead menace, I…"

"We're going to face them." Rachel interrupted abruptly, so suddenly that Ness turned and gave her an incredulous stare.

"Wh…What? But Rachel, they nearly…"

"We didn't know how to deal with them before." The healer said firmly, her voice steel in velvet. "But knowing what we do now…We should be able to stop them. And I'd rather be done with it now. I don't know where either of you stand, but I'm not about to leave undead to rule anything as long as there's an ounce of the Rosequeen's power left in me."

Ness looked over to Marik. "Help me talk some sense into her." He pleaded.

The Sorceror only nodded at Rachel's words, and a sighing Morris landed on Ness' shoulder, giving an apologetic shrug of his wings. "I'm afraid you're outnumbered three to one on this one, chief. This passage is a road…a way once used for travel, and a way that could be again. We'd be doing the Traveler an awful disservice if we didn't try to make it a little safer for whoever's going to come through after us."

Marik glanced over to Rachel and nodded, and the young woman beamed up to the towering mage. "I had a feeling you'd agree with me." She said brightly.

Ness drew his lips up so tight they seemed to disappear in the stubble on his face. "I'm…I'm afraid to." He admitted finally. "We've made it this far, but I feel like we're tempting fate here."

"If we didn't know what we were facing, we'd be tempting fate." The imp shot back. "And besides, I don't think we have a choice in the matter."

The swordsman offered a surprised look at the calm little imp. "What makes you say that?"

At that, a sudden chilly breeze rose up from the passage leading to the two lords of the night, and a cold blue flame stirred for a brief moment, beckoning them, before floating into its depths and disappearing.

"We're expected." Came Morris' dry rebuttal. Ness glanced over to Rachel, who gave a firm nod of her head and pulled up her crossbow in her free hand. Marik also seemed ready, the hood giving one vigorous bob.

Sighing in defeat, the swordsman took point. "Then let's go say farewell to the monsters of Fenderson's Pass."

* * *

><p>Following the sloping tunnel down along a spiral course for several minutes, Ness and his company began to realize that this stretch through the soil and rock was newer, in comparison to the other regions they had traveled through. It was really the difference between decades and centuries, though, and without artifacts of historical importance, hard for the untrained eye to glean. Morris, without the burden of the lit crystal, went invisible, anticipating danger ahead. Vampires, like himself, could see in the dark, and were possessed of keen senses. But they could not detect invisible things as he could, and more importantly, they could not render themselves transparent at will. It would be one more trick in their favor when the time came, the fretful imp hoped.<p>

At long last, the tunnel expanded out into another burrowed dome-shaped cavern with only one other entrance on the far side, and they found themselves not alone in it. Waiting for them, the dreaded vampire himself and his underling glowered with a mix of anger and fear. Towards Marik, Rachel realized as she followed the monster's gaze.

The vampire spawn's superior, the cool and collected director of all the dangers they had braved throughout the tunnels, stood at the center of the room. He nodded towards them. "I didn't anticipate you making it this far, but apparently, some in your band are just full of surprises." The blood-red eyes burned. "You are not welcome in my domain. Turn about, go the way you came, and I'll spare your lives. Insist on going ahead, and you will 'live' to regret the consequences." He seemed to smirk at that. "It's been a long time since I've enslaved another new immortal to my will. I would not mind another, or three. Keep that in mind."

Ness shook his head. "That's not an option. We're in pursuit of an assassin known as the Grey Shadow. Retreat would hinder us too much."

The beast's eyes flashed. "I thought you might say that. But reconsider. Your friends, while powerful with their magics, are not as inexhaustible as you. And by now, having fought through my forces, they are certainly weakened. How many more blasts of your healing magic could you manage, my dear?" He smirked, giving a cold stare to Rachel. "One? Maybe three? I assure you, it would take more than such a pitiful number to stop me." He glanced to Marik. "And you? You've thrown more fire than I've ever seen any mage muster. I assure you, my servant and I move faster than those pitiful zombies you scorched to oblivion." He turned back to Ness. "Retreat, and you will live, as much as it pains me to lose a meal. Press on, and you will soon find yourself as much bound to these caverns as I."

"You don't frighten us, vampire." Ness managed, trying to draw out the vampire's conversation. All the longer for Marik and Morris, to gain a better look at what they were facing.

The effort didn't go unappreciated; Through Marik's subtle manipulation of the cantrips he knew more innately than most spells, Morris could finally gauge a more appraising look at their foe. While the vampire spawn they had sparred with before was clean, the head vampire appeared to wear an enchanted bracer, most likely for protection, and beyond that, his cloak and a ring on his finger glowed with the aura of other unknown magics.

"We will not fall for your tricks as easily as that weakling Fenderson did!" Ness boasted, lifting his torch high.

The vampire blinked at that, then began to laugh heartily. A little surprised, Ness blinked and took a tentative step back, falling into a defensive pose. The vampire regained his senses, and the mirth in his eyes went to fury.

"Fools." He rasped, rising up in the dark by several inches, towering over his counterpart. "I _am_ Thomas Fenderson."

The comment caught them all off guard, and the vampire considered it for a moment. "Oh, there was a vampire here, true enough. He thought he could convert me into one of his servants…but I turned out to be too strong for him. The enslavement failed, yet I was a vampire all the same. I enjoyed tearing his empty husk asunder." He drew a hand into the folds of his cloak, producing a flask. With a lazy throw, he hurled it up into the air and smashed it into the ceiling. The liquid inside hissed into thick smoke when exposed to the air, and the summoned cloud produced a sudden downpour of rain that was brief, but effective.

The torches of Ness and Rachel went out, and soaked as they were, would not light again for some time. Only the crystal light, hovering about them by Marik's Sorceror's hand, illuminated the dim interior.

"Just as I'll enjoy doing to you!" The vampiric Fenderson hissed, rushing towards the stunned band with his cohort fast on his heels.

Ness threw his useless torch aside and clung his now free hand around the wooden holy symbol of Weyveliste that Marik had given to him. Rachel held her own token up, and Marik snapped out his longsword.

The conversation had come to an end.

As ferocious as Fenderson was, he was still restrained by the limitations of his kind. He set his sights on Rachel thinking it best to be done with the girl who could pull her allies from death's door and injure him all the same. Something flashed in her blue eyes as the silver medallion she carried came up, held out in front of her with a subtle power. "Back!" Rachel barked, and in that moment, a very real and intangible force seemed to erect about her. He struck against it, hissing as he retreated, dancing in a circle around the girl.

"Blast you! I'll tear that pendant off, and take your hand with it!" He roared, baring his long fangs.

Still holding it out, Rachel's fingers began to glow with the essence of another one of her healing spells. But while every blast she had mustered throughout the caves had been a faint white, this echoed into shades of blue.

"You won't have a boast left in you by the time I'm done!" The healer shouted, caught up in the swelling forces of magic going through her. The vampire hissed and tried to dart away, but the glimmering motes of her more powerful healing spell, reserved until this newest battle, found him easily and made his flesh smolder. The beast screeched and took to the ceiling, fading into the darkness and shadows that lurked about the cavern. Rachel took a moment to catch her breath, exhilarated with herself. "I could get used to this." She murmured, the faint blue glow about her free hand dissipating back away.

While Rachel had proven herself to be held of ultimate faith, the doubt-filled Ness Benson was less lucky. He held up the holy symbol of Weyveliste, but the vampire spawn kept coming. With a ferocious backhand, the vampire knocked Ness down and flew past. Ness groaned against the pain, and when he could see again, he looked up to see the fiend standing over him, claws and fangs bared.

"Oh, wonderful…" Ness wheezed, feebly holding up the symbol again. "Back off!"

The vampire spawn laughed and knocked it away from his hand. "What's wrong? Running low on faith these days?"

Out of nowhere, a feral and high-pitched roar caught the vampire kin's attention, just before a familiar leathery-winged figure in trousers, tunic and vest swooped down, gashing his fingers deep into the right eye socket of the beast. Roaring in pain, he stumbled backwards, and the imp shook a fist at him. "Who needs faith when you've got friends?!" Morris bellowed, hovering defiantly.

Even as the wound healed and the vampire spawn glared back with his reformed eye to the little beast, Ness had picked himself back up, holding his longsword in both hands.

"You're damn right." The swordsman exhaled.

The vampire spawn laughed at him. "Well, let's just see…"

At that precise moment, a volley of two green projectiles came out of nowhere, blindsiding the vampire kin and sending him reeling once again. Ness flashed a grin over to Marik, who offered a brief nod of understanding and began to cast again, reaching for a different spell.

"That was his last batch of bolts, Ness." Morris reminded the swordsman, hovering defensively beside the grizzled warrior.

"Then let's make it count!" Ness roared, and they charged together towards the vampire kin.

High above, the vampire was lurking and waiting, perhaps trying to bait a trap of some sort. All of these thoughts and more went through Rachel's mind as she kept her holy symbol held up, waiting for a moment's cunning to whirl about and rebuke the fiendish Fenderson with another shout and defiant gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a quick motion, a figure approaching her fast. Twirling about with her long brown hair trailing after her, she jammed the symbol out…

And nearly punched it into the chest of Marik, the towering, reclusive Sorceror.

"Marik!" She squeaked. "You can't sneak up on me like that! He's still up there." She turned around and scrutinized the ceiling again.

The Sorceror said nothing for a moment, floating the glowing light crystal over her holy symbol.

"What's this for?" She queried, glancing down at it for only a moment. The reasoning became clear a moment later when Marik conjured up another one of his fireballs. He dropped it into the palm of his Sorceror's hand and sent it rocketing up to the ceiling. The bright red flames lit up the ceiling better than the crystal could, and he slowly began to move it back and forth, searching, she realized, for the monster.

"You can be resourceful some days." She said appreciatively, smiling in the middle of the conflict. "And…I never did say thank you."

The Sorceror, his brow furrowed in concentration, thought she meant for saving him, and gave a shrug.

The girl hesitated for a moment before speaking up again, quieter than before. "For talking to me."

That made his flaming orb pause for a moment, the shock clear.

"It took me a while to realize it hadn't been Morris who was speaking to me in that darkness." She continued. "And for the record? Your voice, however scarred you think you are…doesn't sound that bad."

The Sorceror smiled an unseen smile.

_"I'll remember that."_ He rasped. _"But now's not the time."_

"Now's the perfect time." She argued, mustering the beginnings of another powerful healing spell in her hand, glancing over to Ness and Morris, firing the stronger blue blast off to great effect at the howling, burning vampire spawn they struggled against. "If you'll only bother talking when we're about to die, now's the only time I have!"

The Sorceror exhaled. _"Later."_ He finished sharply, just before the fiery sphere in his control located the vampire, pressed up so flat against the ceiling that had it not been for the light reflecting out of his eyes from the sphere, Marik would never have seen him. Taking advantage of the last precious moments of the spell, the Sorceror ground the flaming ball into Fenderson's head and upper back. The vampire howled in pain, dashing off as the fireball extinguished. Enraged, he threw himself down towards Rachel and Marik, but she held up the holy symbol again and barked at him, and he was repelled away once more.

While Ness' sword and Morris' ferocious, though weak blows were not of the sort that penetrated the vampire spawn's unnatural immunities, the two were quickly beginning to build up a rhythm that was working. Bolstered by Marik's defensive aura, Ness worked a tempo at the pale-skinned fanged beast, slashing ferociously. Every time that the spawn tried to claw at him, or grapple at him, the green energy about Ness glimmered faintly, and Ness used strength and adrenaline to shrug off the rest, responding with another ferocious slash.

He cut deep, sacrificing some of his speed and accuracy for force. The thing came at him so blindly, convinced there was no damage they could deal he could not regenerate, that more of his powerful slashes connected than not. And Morris, darting about and behind Ness with a cunning and dexterity not easy to predict, succeeded in landing more than his fair share of blows as well. The imp's attacks were distractions more than anything, but it made Ness' life all the easier when one of the clawed hands coming down to rake at his face was pulled back with a screech from the sting of Morris. Even with the tiny devil's paralytic venom of no use against the nonliving creature, it was a sharp sting that always pinched and hurt.

Of course, then Rachel had aided them, just as Marik had at the beginning, and threw another one of her healing spells over the monster. That did more damage than thirty seconds of slashing and stinging. Weakened, the vampire spawn fell into panic, crying out for aid from his master. His pained cries were rewarded soon after.

Perhaps having given up on the hope of catching the wary Marik and Rachel off their guard and breaking through the formidable barrier of her upheld holy symbol, the vampire twisted about in the air, diving upon the struggling Ness and taking hold of him easily. The swordsman let out a grunt of surprise as the shadowy figure began to fly back up to the ceiling, squeezing his wrist so tight that Ness had to drop his sword, which clattered to the ground.

"No! Chief!" Morris called up after the swordsman, distracted just long enough for the vampire spawn below to land a dizzying blow to the imp. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of his tiny lungs and sent him spiraling across the room to crash sickly into the wall, falling to the floor unconscious, if not worse.

"Success is ours!" The exhausted vampire spawn cackled, preparing to leap up into the air after his master and the swordsman.

Something thin but tight suddenly wrapped about his leg, restraining him as it coiled firmly. Stunned, the vampire turned to see an enraged Rachel Ashbury, whip out in hand, tugging back on him. "You think to stop me from flying off?" He cackled, not believing the girl's bravado. Even then, more and more of Ness' cuts were beginning to heal, and quickly.

Sweat beaded on her brow from the effort, Rachel gripped the bullwhip's grip a little tighter with both hands, shaking her head. "Not stop you. Slow you down."

The response was not one he had expected, and it made him stop and blink, wondering just what she had meant by that.

Then he noticed the descending form of the black-clad Sorceror, coming down on top of him after a superhuman jump. And he saw the glimmer of the mages' silvered longsword, poking out dangerously from the sleeve of his right arm. It was the vampire's last sight before Marik, avenging his friend Morris with a powerful scream, drove the blade through his gaping mouth and out the back of his head. The wound was enough to extinguish the tiny spark of unlife left in him.

Up above, the vampire winced as he watched his last minion perish. It was a painful loss, but one he could take. After all, he himself had survived, and most importantly, he reminded himself, he had the swordsman known as 'The Cursed Blade' firmly in his clawed grip.

"I may not be able to kill you all like your Grey Shadow paid me to," The fiend that that once been Thomas Fenderson hissed angrily, "But I'll sate myself, knowing you will perish!"

The vampire had thought Fenderson defenseless with his sword gone. That had been his first mistake. The second had been mentioning the Grey Shadow and his involvement.

The revelation snapped Ness from his dazed state with a sudden fury. "You're working for him?!" Ness roared, enervated. His sword arm trapped by Fenderson's grip, he reached to his belt with his left hand and pulled out his hidden dirk.

His _silvered_ hidden dirk.

"Then _die_ like he will!" Ness screamed, driving the sharp and pointed dagger up through the side of the vampire's neck. The effect was immediate, and the pained scream of Fenderson was music to Ness' ears. Clawing at the wound which smoked from the burning presence of silver against his skin and muscle, the vampire lost hold of Ness, who dropped for the floor far below. Gritting his teeth, the swordsman rolled with the fall, still suffering a pain in his legs.

Fenderson writhed about in the air, finally managing to tear the dagger free. But Ness, while harried and slightly injured from the drop, was quick on the uptake. "Let him have it!" He shouted to Marik and Rachel. A familiar nimbus of blue light and a summoned orb of fire conjured up beside the Sorceror and healer, and Ness staggered for the fallen imp.

"Blast you all!" Fenderson screamed. He hurled the dagger down towards Rachel, hoping for a hit. The determined girl took a quick step to the side, never once breaking her bright blue eyes from his blood red ones.

"You don't belong in this world, Fenderson!" Rachel called up to him as she hurled a hand skyward. "Calyssa's light decrees it!" The blue light rose from her fingertips and smashed into his body with burning force. Already injured from the powerful gash of Ness' silver dagger, the vampire nearly collapsed from the damage. Wheezing with a hand at his chest, which burned hotly against his hand from the healing energies she had struck him with, Fenderson's next thought was to flee while he still could. Any thought of that disappeared from his mind when a light came at him from behind, and the vampire turned to stare hopelessly at the bright, burning ball of fire conjured up by Marik.

Far from the fight, a worried Ness picked up Morris' lifeless body, cradling the imp against him. "No." Ness croaked. "No, I can't lose you…Not another ally. Not another friend. Not here."

Morris' eyes were shut, his mouth agape and his breathing so shallow that he seemed to be dying before the swordsman's very eyes.

Daring on hope, Ness' trembling free hand went down to the last vial of healing elixir he carried, the one he had not given back to Rachel. Uncorking it, he poured it down Morris' throat, watching it melt away with the faintest glow.

The leathery wings of Morris Redtail still did not move for seconds after.

Ness bit his lip, squeezing the imp gently. "If you die on me, I'll never forgive you." He whispered, for he had come to befriend the good-natured imp more than he would have ever thought possible at the outset of their journey.

The black beady eyes of Morris fluttered awake as the imp coughed suddenly, his entire body flexing as the healing potion revived him from his dying state.

"Like I'd give you the satisfaction." Morris said weakly, smiling up at Ness as he flexed his wings and began to stand up, holding onto an offered finger for support. "Did you get the name of that giant who ran over me?"

Beaming brightly at the imp, who gingerly floated back up into the air and shook off the last of his stupor, Ness felt a sense of hope rise back inside of him.

If Morris could joke, then maybe everything would turn out all right.

Guided as though it were a cart on rails, the defiant ball of fire soared towards the vampiric form of Thomas Fenderson, carried by the nearly ever present magical hand of the Sorceror.

_"Back to the Depths with you, then…"_ Marik wheezed, no longer caring that Rachel could hear him. The exhausted girl brought her hands about for one last strike. No longer able to muster the strength of the blue tinted healing spell, she reached instead for the final charge of the less powerful white curative she had held in reserve.

"And away from the living." She added wearily, hurling it up and catching the vampire in another series of convulsions from the sudden dose of damaging, positive energy. It was enough to stop him from fleeing, enough for Marik, despite Fenderson's impressive defenses, to land a solid blow.

"Damn you all!" Fenderson moaned, the last vestiges of his unnatural strength fading, burned away by the magical fire. As his body began to fall down to the earth, scorched and smoking, it suddenly transformed into a thick fog. The cloud of mist quickly moved away and out of reach.

Morris, revived and back in the air, yelped in surprise. "Crackers, he's trying to get away!"

"Well, follow him!" Ness barked, running back to pick up his fallen silver dirk and longsword. The imp gave one brief nod of his head and charged on after the billowing smoke that was their foe. Almost untouchable when he flew at his full speed, the imp was able to keep pace with Fenderson's incorporeal remnant with ease. The smoke and imp darted into the untraveled corridor, vanishing from sight.

Rachel, utterly exhausted of every mote of magic she had, stumbled forwards a little bit, stabilized by Ness as he caught up to his friends. "Is he…"

"Almost." Ness murmured, smiling at her. "By the gods. We actually did it!" His face straightened, and he stared off towards the tunnel Morris had disappeared in. "Fenderson must be making a run for his coffin, to rest. We have to deny him that opportunity."

The Sorceror nodded in agreement, and after making sure that Rachel was safely being assisted by Ness, darted on ahead after Morris, somehow knowing the direction by their empathic connection alone. It was a short run, no more than a hundred feet before they reached the next room.

"The tunnels are a dead-end here, boss." Morris reported, fluttering over to them. "But this is one heck of a room." Ness and Rachel stared about, blinking in surprise.

In the glow of the crystal charm Marik had passed over to Rachel, they found themselves in a place of remarkable finery. A delicate rug sat on the dirt floor of the room, a sizable red stain marring the fabric. Bronze candelabras, ignored, sat about the room, which was adorned with three tall human-sized mirrors against one wall, and a great mahogany desk was the centerpiece of it all. Spread across it was a half-opened bag with gold and silver coins spilling out of it. Even more impressive than that sight was a large chest of riches on the floor beside the desk, gold and silver and gems glimmering in the light.

Ness' jaw dropped. "By the Mountain Lord's beard! What kind of a storehouse is this?"

The imp shook his head, doing his best not to be overwhelmed by the wealth. "Come on, Ness. Fenderson was a smuggler. Of course he'd be filthy stinking rich." He glowered about, shaking his head. "But he's not in here."

Rachel walked over to the imp, blinking at him. "But the smoke…where did it go then?"

Morris pointed to the large mirrors along one of the walls. "It floated over to those mirrors and then just…well, it disappeared." He admitted finally.

Ness snorted, tearing his glimmering eyes from the sudden promise of so much wealth. "Impossible. Fog just doesn't go through mirrors."

Rachel blinked, staring at the mirror long and hard. Steeling herself, she walked over to them and rapped. First on the left mirror, hearing a solid knock…then on the right, with a similar dull sound. But when she knocked on the middle one, there came back a ringing sound, and the promise of a hollow within.

Triumphantly, she looked back to the others. "There must be a hidden room behind the mirror. I'll bet you anything that's where Fenderson fled to."

Ness drew out his longsword and walked up to it, pushing Rachel aside. He steadied himself, then swung against the mirror with all his force. The mirror shimmered for a moment, but did not crack or break from the ferocious blow. Confused, he took a step back. "It should have given way."

Marik growled again, and a faint light descended around the mirror. Morris rolled his eyes. "Perfect. It's enchanted to resist being broken." The imp blinked, then lifted an eyebrow and stared at Marik with a cocky grin. "But I'll bet you anything we could shatter it."

Rachel stared over to Marik. "Shatter it? How?"

Marik's familiar green Sorceror's hand dipped into his haversack, pulling out a scroll. The imp was practically gloating as he helped unroll it and held it up in the air.

"Thank our bandit friends for this one. It was in that pile of gear we found."

Marik concentrated on the scroll for a few moments, letting out a long and low growl that spiraled upwards to a near buzz as the magic took hold. The words began to fade from the scroll in a puff of smoke, and before their eyes, the mirrors began to quiver and wobble from the vibration.

Unable to cope with the magical waves of force mustered by the scroll, the mirrors surrendered to their fate and shattered apart.

The Sorceror's hand rolled the now blank scroll up and tucked it in the backpack for later, mundane use. "And there he is." Ness breathed, looking into the small room beyond. Lying on a coffin angled against the wall, the lid open and his blood-red eyes staring balefully at the intruders was Thomas Fenderson, immobile and helpless.

Grimly, the swordsman stepped inside, looking down on the vampire. "You made a mistake the moment you decided to work for the Grey Shadow. Once you did that, this became personal."

Too weak to even talk, Fenderson blinked up at Ness, picturing countless wrath-filled images in his mind of what he would have done differently to end the Cursed Blades' life.

Ness stroked at his chin for a few moments, then looked back to the others. "How do we kill him? Burn him again?"

Morris shook his head. "The only true way to destroy a vampire, outside of exposing him to sunlight, is to drive a wooden stake through his heart."

Ness grimaced. "A wooden stake, eh? I don't have one of those. Do you, Rachel?"

The girl shook her head. "Sadly, no." They turned to look at Marik and Morris, and the imp, while still injured, was stubborn enough to roll his eyes.

"Oh, sure. Ask the packmule. Well, as luck would have it…"

The Sorceror's hand reached inside of Marik's haversack again, and drew out the quarterstaff he'd stuffed in it days before. "Will this do?" The hand floated the weighty oaken staff over to Ness, who held it in his hands and nodded.

"This will do fine." Ness murmured. He turned to Fenderson, eyes cold. "You'll not harm another soul ever again, Thomas. Keep that in mind when you fade into the beyond."

The blood-red eyes blinked a few more times, then closed as he gave in to his defeat. Drawing up more of his strength, Ness lifted the end of the staff above his head, and drove it home into the vampire's chest with tremendous force. Even unsharpened as it was, Ness ensured that it carried out its role.

It pierced a gash through Fenderson's desiccated flesh, striking at his core. In that final moment, the former smuggler whimpered before his body turned completely to dust. Fenderson left behind an empty coffin, save for the cloak, bracer, and ring he had worn, and something that caught Marik's eye, a small rounded black stone the size of an eye which had likely been hidden in his pocket.

A strange breeze wafted out of the burial chamber, as if Fenderson's spirit had been released at last. Tired, Ness pulled the quarterstaff back and glanced to Marik, Rachel, and Morris.

There in the darkness of a cavern, they shared a smile of triumph and fortune.

They had lived, true. But more than that, they had defeated the elderly menace of the cave as well, and come out far richer than before.

* * *

><p>It took them roughly an hour to search the expanse of the study Fenderson had kept for himself. They began with the items that Fenderson had kept on him first. Marik identified, by tale and by trade every item the vampire had carried. His tattered cloak, repaired with one final incantation from an exhausted Rachel, was enchanted to bolster the resistance of its wearer to all manner of attacks and effects. The ring wasn't as hard to identify, for Marik had seen many a traveling Vagabond insist on keeping one with them; an alertness ring, a great aid for those who wished an elf's definition of sleep. As for the bracer, it was as Marik had first thought, a defensive aid. It had been of utterly no use to the nightwalker against the powerful spells he and Rachel had mustered, however.<p>

The stone was the truly curious artifact, for Marik had never seen one of the like. But as near as he could tell, the eye-sized orb of obsidian, by seeing what the vampire had done with it, possessed a natural talent to evoke magical darkness where its wielder wished it. That power seemed drained for the moment, as it did not respond to his thoughts when he grasped it.

When it came down to dividing the spoils, there had been some manner of argument. Since Marik and Ness both already wore cloaks, Rachel opted for the newly mended garment. It was a favorable addition to her ensemble, seeing as it had taken on a shade of blue after the years of grime had been removed from it. Marik would have liked the ring, but Ness convinced him to take the protective bracer instead. The obsidian stone, which Marik decided to leave nameless until they could get it properly identified, went into Rachel's satchel for the time being.

Out in the main study, their spoils were truly well deserved. A search of Fenderson's desk revealed a magical leather bag, which like Marik's rucksack was enchanted to increase the amount of goods it could carry. The hundreds of gold coins and the assembly of small gems Fenderson had amassed from his lifetime of smuggling went into that, and Morris' beady eyes seemed to grow only larger as he watched the small fortune become a part of what they carried. Ness tied both the extradimensional bag and the full moneypurse they had found on the desk to his belt.

"We'll divide the spoils the next time we reach a town." Ness promised them, still amazed that they had survived. Morris rubbed his hands together eagerly.

"Boy, oh boy! Just imagine what we could get with that. Boss, you could even get some _real_ food instead of those crummy crackers in our trail rations!"

The magical hand managed a halfhearted swat, and Rachel giggled at the joke, prompting Ness to only smile broader.

The imp flew over and landed on Ness' shoulder, feeling somewhat dejected. "Geez, I guess we're not such a bad bunch to work with, are we?"

The swordsman smiled and gave a shake of his head. "I can honestly say I've never had the chance to work with such interesting partners before."

"And you didn't want to face that vampire." Rachel teased the swordsman.

"Aye, and I was right to." Ness answered with a sigh. "Poor Morris took a knock to the head I didn't think he'd ever wake up from for a while, and we all had our fair share of injuries, yourself included."

"Still feeling a little weak, eh?" Rachel winked. The swordsman shrugged, ignoring the duller pallor to his skin.

"I'm sure it's nothing a good night's rest outside of these caverns won't fix." He looked around, shaking his head at the sight. "Well, let's see. We've collected his fortune, made off with his magical items…is there anything else we can think of to do to this unfortunate fellow?"

"Just one." Rachel murmured. "Even though he probably doesn't deserve it, offer up a prayer for his spirit's passage to the next world."

Marik and Morris glanced at her in surprise, but Ness only nodded his head.

"Doomed by his own greed. That description fit Thomas Fenderson well. I suppose we can only hope he'll find some measure of peace now."

"I think you mean charity." Rachel clarified. "Speaking of which, if it's all the same to you, Ness, when we do reach the next town, I'll be seeing if I can't send a tenth of my share back to my friends in Westshire."

Ness blinked. "Really, now? I'm impressed. I didn't think people did that anymore."

Rachel smiled at him, her blue eyes sparkling. "They need all the help they can get most days, I think."

Ness nodded, looking to his torch. "Well, do you suppose it's finally dried out enough to light again?"

"Only one way to find out." The good-natured Morris said, producing the flint and steel out of Marik's backpack again.

Ness took the items and struck them over his torch. In only a few seconds, the sparks caught and lit the oil-soaked straw. He lifted it up, and Rachel lit hers as well. "There's only one direction left to go then."

"After the Grey Shadow." Rachel added.

"Towards Istus." Morris finished. The four companions looked at each other and shared a nod before turning out of the destroyed vampire's lair and towards the cave exit.

In the front with Morris, Ness was once again unaware of the slight drama unfolding between Marik and Rachel. He could not see how the girl walked a little closer to the foreboding mage, smiling again.

In the darkness, Marik had found his voice and regained Rachel's trust.

Their small band was all the stronger for it.

* * *

><p><em>The Kingdom of Samael's Lands, Southern Region<em>

_The Exit to Fenderson's Pass_

A perverted sense of bloodlust kept the Grey Shadow resting atop the hill overlooking the exit to Fenderson's Pass; a desire to see and know by their absence that the Cursed Blade and whoever accompanied him had been caught in the snare of the greedy and vengeful vampire within. Oh, the chase had been amusing for a time, but as he got older, the assassin found fewer things humorous, and that swordsman had been a nuisance for too long.

He chanced a look up to the sun from the shroud he kept over his face, wincing even with the iron faceplate protecting him. There was perhaps another three hours of daylight, and then he could move freely over the countryside. The weariness in his body reminded him that he would need some time soon to enter into his meditations, clear his thoughts, the closest equivalent to sleep he had. A part of the coming night would have to be spent in that activity that seemed a luxury to his time. He was just about to duck underneath his shroud and disappear against the mountain face when motion below caught his eye…And made his heart, or what was left of it, stop cold.

Out of the cave mouth, a man he had come to despise beyond all rational bounds stepped out, extinguishing a torch and laughing as he stretched. "Oh, that sun's a welcome blessing after all that mess."

After him fluttered a leathery winged figure, a cross between a bat and an ugly-faced monster; an imp, the assassin recognized, though it had been a long time since he had last crossed paths with one.

Next came a girl who couldn't have been any older than eighteen, and may have yet been younger despite her appearance. She wore a familiar cloak about her shoulders, though it was not as grimy or as torn as when last he had seen it. The Grey Shadow bit off the curse he had almost exploded with; They had not only made it through the caverns alive, but they had apparently defeated Fenderson as well. Her dress made her seem a practitioner of magic, but she lacked the age of true wizards. No, she seemed more in the divine vein of things, by her radiant appearance. If that was the case, and there was more priestess and cleric in her than mage, then it was small wonder that they had survived.

The undead inside hadn't stood a chance against divine intervention.

"It feels wonderful." The brown-haired girl agreed, stretching her arms up and basking in the warmth of daylight. "Mmm, I didn't think we'd ever get out of those caves."

The imp looked back at her, cackling with a smile that seemed to deny his heritage. "Didn't I tell you I knew which direction to go? You have to put more faith in me, Rachel."

She paused and looked back to the cavern entrance. "Well, are you coming, Marik?" After a few moments, the person she had been speaking to emerged from the exit.

The last figure was more imposing than any of the others at first glance, the Grey Shadow determined. He towered over the girl, and even dwarfed the veteran swordsman in height. He was a lean figure that carried a tension, as if he were a spring ready to snap at a moment's notice. Most unusual about him was his dress; the man's entire body was hidden in long black robes, a cloak billowing out behind him and a hood draped over his face.

The imp turned about and landed on his shoulder, and the connection sunk into the Grey Shadow's mind.

The imp was a familiar, and he apparently belonged to the imposing figure in black. Which meant he was a mage, likely a wizard who dabbled in the dark arts.

But that too, made little sense to the Grey Shadow. Why would the Cursed Blade, a man who for all his luck was a paladin at heart, allow himself to be allied with a spellcaster who favored such a connection to the lower planes, places and individuals of evil?

Questions about the Cursed Blade and his curious comrades echoed about inside of the Grey Shadow's mind, and came to the chilling conclusion that if they could walk out of the Pass in such high spirits, and what seemed to be a state of complete health, then it would not bode well for him to trifle with them. He was deprived of rest and in a weakened condition.

He narrowed his eyes, pulling back slowly against the hill, doing his best to fade in and blend with the rocks and minor flora. No, they would pass on without his interference…today. But a day would come when the Grey Shadow would finally take a more active role in his traps to end his pursuers.

Only when he knew more about them…and had time to plan. He hadn't lived as long as he had by being rash. Every decision he made was cold and calculating, as it had been for years. It wouldn't do to change that now.

Below, Marik paused, feeling a nagging feeling at the back of his mind…It was as if, the Sorceror thought for a moment, something had reached out and tried to speak to him. Curious, he stopped his walk after his friends and glanced to the high hills he and his friends had emerged from.

The action didn't go unnoticed by Morris, who drew the attention of Ness and Rachel with a whistle.

"Marik, what's wrong?" Ness asked, tilting his head to the side. The Sorceror pondered on it for a moment longer, then shook his hood, turning away from the northern edge of the Western Hills.

The imp, sitting on Marik's shoulder, passed along his friend's message.

"For a moment just now…I felt like I was being watched."

Ness laughed it off. "Oh, be serious now. It's just your imagination getting to you. After everything we saw in there, I don't blame you. Rest easy, Marik."

Shrugging it off, Marik jogged up until he caught up with his two companions, and they marched off to the northwest, the rest of their journey ahead of them.

Behind them, the Grey Shadow sank further into his dark shroud and watched them all depart. It would be several minutes before he would rise from that spot, feeling safe enough to dart around them and off into the distance. Had Marik been of sharper eyes or keener interest, he might have been able to pick out the Grey Shadow, even in his camouflage against the mountain. It would have simply been a matter of knowing what to look for…

For the assassin's eyes burned like cinders behind his mask.


	7. Six: The Healer's Oath

**Six: The Healer's Oath**

_The Kingdom of Samael's Lands (Southern Region), Central Continent of Ashra_

They had camped out the night following their escape from Fenderson's Pass, and another night beyond that after a day's walking. It was on their second full day of travel in the region of Ashra known as Samael's Lands that Ness finally broke down and turned to the introverted Sorceror.

"All right, I'm feeling a little lost, Marik. Do you happen to have any idea where we are?"

Marik and Morris shared a look. The imp spoke for them, in his usual chipper way. "Well, chances are we're somewhere in Samael's Lands…lost."

Ness rolled his eyes. "Be serious now. We need to get into a town and lighten our load a bit. And I don't know about you, but my shirt's starting to look a little threadbare, and I could probably use another from their tailor."

The imp cackled at that, giving the swordsman a wink. "Let's just dig out Marik's map and take a look then, shall we?"

Rachel, ever the optimist both in good times and bad, walked with a skip in her step, adoring the countryside. "Still, Ness…if we had to get lost, this is a wonderful place to be lost in."

Ness glanced about, clearly not seeing the scenery with the same love that she did. "Are you soft in the head, Miss Ashbury? It's nothing but fields and farmland out here!"

The complaint was a justified one, as far as the swordsman was concerned. Watching with a mix of curiosity and good humor, Marik kept his tongue, and Morris' tongue silent, wondering where it would lead. The countryside was lush and green, and had been for thousands of years. Long before the other kingdoms and countries that made up the rest of Ashra had formed, the Great King Samael had forged a lasting alliance with a few of the surrounding provinces. In response to the threat of an orc warlord called Arghrym the Invader, the Great King had rallied the remnants of humanity on Ashra and pushed the invaders back to the seas. The empire under Samael's banner held strong for a thousand years before outlying provinces began to break away. Only then had 'Samael's Lands' begun to shrink, until it stood at its current borders.

It benefited from a temperate climate and soil untouched by the salty sea air that so permeated Crannogh Heights and the distant Mandrake Shores. Those factors gave the longstanding kingdom an agricultural foundation which had never been matched by any other country in Ashra.

While Ness somehow seemed used to the sight, Rachel was left in awe at it, or perhaps it was the journey itself which inspired her to seek the beauty that her goddess proclaimed. It was a battle between a pragmatist and a romantic, the Sorceror decided, and the wily imp atop his shoulder had to agree.

"I lived outside a massive city all my life, Ness." The girl explained to the swordsman. "A countryside like this…It's something I only ever heard about."

"Well, that's one thing Samael's Lands is famous for." Ness grumbled, scuffing a toe into the ground as they dragged along. "Dirt poor farmers, and big wide landscapes." He glanced over to Marik and Morris. "Do you have that map yet?" Morris lifted a hand up from behind Marik's back, revealing a frayed roll of paper. "Wonderful. Now, figure out where we are, would you?"

If the Sorceror could have looked indignant, he tried his best, setting a sleeved hand to his side and seeming to slouch. Morris carried the rest of it over. "And just what makes you think that we can pinpoint our location, based on a point of entry into Samael's Lands which isn't even on the map, and a general direction and time?"

"You worship Weyveliste, god of the road." Ness explained simply. "So wouldn't it make sense for you to be intimately familiar with all aspects of travel?"

The imp pouted for a moment, but unrolled the map in front of himself and Marik, still grumbling. "We'll do our best, but there's no guarantee that we'll be right."

"That's all anyone can do." Ness soothed his temperamental associates.

Rachel was still grinning from ear to ear, running up a nearby swelling hill to glance about the landscape with a broader stare. She drew her new magical cloak about her shoulders, the gentle blue complementing the red scarf she kept about her neck. Leaving Marik and Morris to worry about the map, Ness walked up the hill beside her, setting a hand to his side and looking about.

"I don't understand what you see in all of this." Ness said, pausing to draw her eyes to him. "But…It's made you glad, and I've gotten used to your smile, I think."

The young woman grinned at that. "Find beauty in all its forms, and give it voice. That's one of Calyssa's tenements, Ness. It's not just that I'm seeing things I've never had the chance to lay eyes on before. It's that I'm looking for wonder, and there it is, all in front of me."

Ness exhaled, looking out over the rolling, field-filled swells of gentle Samael's Lands, the sun above making the greenery below all the more vibrant. "You know what I consider to be beautiful?"

Her curiosity piqued, Rachel toned herself down to a thin smile. "Oh? Please, by all means, tell me."

"My new friends." Ness said, the answer so quiet and unexpected that the girl blinked.

"Us?"

Ness smiled, shaking his head. "When we set out from Westshire, I did not think we would come this far without taking a loss. I have not always had the fortune of the most long-lived companions in the past." Ness turned and looked at her, a youthful mirth in his older blue eyes. "But then again, I have never worked with such an interesting mage as Marik, nor as good and merry a creature as Morris. And certainly, I have never seen anyone who is anything like you."

Rachel blushed at that, turning her head away. "Yes, and we're all glad to be at your side as well." She inferred, trying to speak for them all.

But Ness, no longer crushed by the weight of guilt of his nickname and the legacy that went with it after their last challenge, had opened his eyes enough to take in other things around him. And one thing that hadn't gone unnoticed was how truly stunning the young Rachel Ashbury was, at the age where her childish youth finally gave way to a woman's beauty.

He stepped a little closer to her, his strong hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "As I am…to be at yours." He said, pausing to find just the right words.

A little unsettled, but not terribly so, Rachel managed a weak laugh and pushed his hand away. Surprised by the man's sudden attraction, she found herself stumbling for words.

Thankfully, Marik and Morris prevented the need for her to reach for them. "I think we've got it!" Came the imp's high squeal. Rachel turned about, glad for the distraction. Marik's Sorceror's hand carried the map, unrolled, and the imp jabbed a finger at it when he and the Sorceror got close enough to their friends. "If Marik's right, then another few hours of walking north of here will take us to a village known as Kalen."

Ness nodded solemnly. "Well, that's the best lead we have to go on. Likely the Grey Shadow might have terrorized the populace there, perhaps in hopes of leading us through another trap."

"There's only one way to find out." Morris said confidently, darting up in the air and ahead of Ness, the cheery swordsman dashing after him. Marik kept to a slower pace as was his habit, and he found Rachel dawdling beside him for a change. The girl had a confused look on her face, and so after a minute or so of careful observation, the Sorceror pulled on his own voice, and spoke to her. The notion of it would have been impossible four days ago, but their trials in the tunnels had broken a portion of the mental wall Marik had spent a lifetime building around himself, just enough to trust Rachel with the secret of his true wheezing, watery, and sometimes hissing voice.

_"You seem troubled, Rachel. What's bothering you?"_

The girl tightened her scarf a little against a sudden breeze, her blue eyes wondering as she considered the older Ness Benson in a new light.

"Just thinking, is all." She offered the Sorceror a weak smile. "But thank you for being concerned, Marik. You're a wonderful friend to have around."

_"So you tell me." _Marik replied, feigning sarcasm within his darkened hood. Rachel giggled at the small joke, as she did with most of Marik's eccentricities.

Rachel pushed aside her new doubts and focused on the road ahead of them. Whatever challenges they had to face, she was in good company. She could keep that close to her while she began to ponder if Ness' interest was more than fleeting, and more importantly…

If it was a reciprocal attraction.

* * *

><p>Kalen was a relatively small village surrounded by fields and thatched huts. They might almost have missed it, had it not been for Morris' sharp eyes and his ability to flutter above to view everything about them as a bird.<p>

On their way through, though, they noticed something that disturbed them all. The peasants out toiling in the fields were sick, some nearly to exhaustion. It unsettled Rachel the most who tightened her cloak about her warningly. "What's wrong with them all?"

"It could be that a malady has befallen them." Ness murmured. "Farmers and their families struggle hard to produce the foods that they do, but often have little money to stretch towards expensive medicines and prayers."

"I'll bet you anything that once we get into the village proper, we can find out some answers." Morris added, landing down on the girl's shoulder. The imp thought for a moment, then chuckled. "Say, boss? If you don't mind, I don't feel like hiding in your hood this time."

The Sorceror gazed to his friend, then shrugged in defeat.

Ness laughed, turning his head back around to glance at the loudmouthed little devil. "Won't you be a sight for these people!"

"Oh, Morris will be a curious sight, that's for sure…But I think their minds will be elsewhere." Rachel said, suddenly concerned. The reason was apparent as they reached the edge of the town.

A cart carrying a host of bodies disappeared around the edge of a finer house.

"Forget what I said about a malady." Ness said, a frightened edge seeping into his voice. "This is a plague."

Their small band paused at the village edge, and Ness looked to Rachel. "Let me guess. Even though we're marching into a place which may kill us…"

"We have to help them." Rachel said firmly.

Ness rolled his eyes. "Of course."

"You don't trust her judgment yet, Ness?" The imp queried. "If it wasn't for her, we'd be a few hundred gold poorer and you wouldn't be wearing that ring of yours."

"Yes, and I wouldn't have been frightened half out of my mind thinking you were about to die." Their leader shot back easily. "If I hadn't moved so quickly, we might have lost you in those caves because of that beast's backhand."

"Feh!" Morris snorted. "Every scuffle we get ourselves in, I get a little stronger. And the only reason he was able to knock me out of the air was because I was too busy worrying about you!"

Rachel hit them both with a glare. "Quiet, the both of you. Can't you show a little respect for these people?" Sure enough, as they strolled into the village of Kalen, those still living there glanced up with suspicion and hostility to the arguing duo.

Marik walked a little faster, his eyes gleaning about the small collection of buildings with a scrutinizing intensity. After a time, he nodded and summoned Morris to his shoulder.

"Rachel, you wanted to look for answers about this town?" The imp called out, carrying over Marik's words. The young woman nodded, seeming more mature than her years as she surveyed the illness claiming the townsfolk. There was a sadness in the healer's eyes, but also a desire to set things right…to help them.

The Sorceror mustered his magical hand once more and pointed a straight course to one structure among all the village which was unmistakably unique.

"We can start finding them there." Rachel followed his gaze, frowning.

"Isn't that a temple?"

"Precisely." Ness realized, identifying the symbol above the door with a large nod. "And you would find no better company for your efforts than in there."

"Why?" The Calyssan pressed, turning on her friends with a flutter of her brown hair.

The swordsman offered a weary smile. "That's a temple of Solares. It's small, but dedicated to the Shining One all the same."

"Meaning, Rachel," said Morris for Marik, "Solares is the deity of light and life. And the only god in all of Terrus who focuses on healing."

Rachel looked back to the structure with a newfound appreciation, pulling her cloak about her shoulder.

"Let's hope we're not too late."

* * *

><p>Father Emile Perdast was a man strong in faith, but weak in magic. That had never mattered to his parishioners, for never had they asked him to walk out and do battle or work miracles. He had the ability to work minor blessings, and those were sufficient.<p>

Or they had been until now. At forty-five years of age, the elderly cleric had found the limitations of his strength. Frustrated, running a cloth over his fevered brow, he looked over the sick and the dying set up along the cots of his temple. People whose births, whose marriages, whose joys he had been a part of for years now suffered under his watch. Every last one of them looked to him for salvation, for surcease from the wracking pain.

A hand caught the tired old cleric's robes, pulling him down next to the coughing farmer it belonged to.

"Father…I fear I won't live through the night." Came the haggard words. "Tell me again…of Paradise."

Biting his lip, Father Perdast reached into his sermons of old. "And those of good heart and spirit shall find their lives beyond death, in the wondrous fields and mountains of Paradise, along the calm shore…And there will be no suffering or pain."

The man coughed again, shivering as the spasms took him again. "Oh…it's a wondrous place. But when I die, will I truly go there?"

Emile looked down at the man, trying his hardest not to cry. "You shall, my son. For Solares is the most merciful of all the gods, and his arms are wide." He summoned forth a bead of light along his fingertip and touched a stand whose candle had burned to tallow. It glowed anew under the minor spell, and the suffering man's eyes quieted at the sight. "And his light watches over us even now."

"Father?" Perdast turned about from his patient, who rested more peacefully with the promise of the afterlife. One of the nurses, a middle-aged housewife who had studied medicine to a degree and served as a midwife, fidgeted nervously.

"What is it, Bessie?" Emile Perdast prodded. "Did we run out of clean towels again?"

The black-haired woman shook her head, her brown eyes wide. "No, nothing of the sort. You have visitors. Not from around here, I think. They're asking for you."

That brought a frown to the overtaxed cleric's face. "For me?"

"Well, for the head cleric of the temple, actually." She explained hastily. "Shall I let them in?"

Emile shrugged, glancing about. "No. I shall go to them…there's no need for these poor souls to worry about newcomers." Following the midwife, he proceeded out of the temple's main room and to the meager entrance.

Just as she had said, there were visitors waiting for him. A girl, perhaps seventeen or sixteen stood in the front, her long brown hair and clear blue eyes startlingly attractive. Behind her stood a man in a green cloak and bits of armor poking out from underneath a loose-fitting tunic, glancing about with a measure of reverence. The last two were the most unusual to his eyes; the first, a man hidden and shrouded all in black robes and cloak with the hood pulled so far down that his face was hidden from view, was all the more imposing by his nearly six and a half feet of height.

Emile Perdast's eyes flashed in sudden fright and worry at the tiny winged and horned creature sitting on the tall hooded man's shoulder, for he recognized it immediately. And even wearing trousers and a vest, the foot-high devil was easy to place.

"What trickery is this?!" Emile demanded of them, angry and reaching for the medallion of Solares about his neck. "You would bring an agent of the Depths into this sacred place!"

The girl walked up to him, her eyes soothing and her touch gentle as she pushed his hand away from the medallion. "It's all right. Please, we mean you no harm." She motioned back to the imp, who rolled his eyes and scoffed something under his breath that they couldn't hear. "He is an imp, true, but he is not evil, nor does he serve it."

"Darn right." Morris grumbled, folding his arms and nodding to the priest. "My name's Morris. Morris Redtail, self-named. I'm with him." He jerked his thumb to the figure whose shoulder he sat on.

"My name is Rachel Ashbury." The young woman continued, keeping Father Perdast's attention close by. "I am a healer by trade. My friends and I were passing by your village when we noticed the illness at work. I thought we might aid you."

A little surprised at the offer, Emile considered the girl a little farther. "But we are just a poor farming village. I'm afraid there is little my congregation could give for reward."

Ness cleared his throat. "This would be a terrible time to ask for money, Father…"

"Perdast. Emile Perdast." The cleric answered, shaking his head.

"I wouldn't think of asking for payment for this." The girl continued. "Your people are dying. Please. Let us help you."

Father Perdast looked up at them all, the girl so eager to please, the swordsman in the cloak glancing about with a discerning, concerned eye, and the hooded figure and imp all too faceless.

"In times of greatest trial, my light shall shine the brightest…" The old cleric mumbled, shaking his head. "Solares must have sent you, for we are indeed in a crisis." He nodded to the girl. "Miss Ashbury, was it? Any help you can render to us will be welcome." The girl nodded brightly at that, looking to Marik, Morris, and Ness.

"These are my friends, Father Perdast. Morris already introduced himself, and this is Marik Observant and Ness Benson." She undid her cloak, folding it over her arm.

"Is there anything we could do to help?" Ness inquired calmly. "I mean, Rachel is the only one who can assist your healing efforts, but…"

The old priest considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm afraid there is little you could do to help us. And as overloaded as we are, we do not have a room to spare. You'll have to find lodgings at the nearby inn. You can wait there while Miss Ashbury is working with us." He handed over a small clay coin, bearing Solares' symbol of a glowing sun. "Give that to the innkeeper. Your stay will be free. It's the least we can do for you all."

"Understandable." Ness nodded. "Until night comes, could we wait here?"

Father Perdast offered another frowning gaze at Morris. "I'm afraid I must insist that you leave the temple. It wouldn't do to be disturbing the sick."

Morris glowered back at the man, his skin turning a darker color as he bit his tongue with sharp teeth. Despite the rage boiling inside of him, he said nothing, quelled by the mental warnings of Marik. Rachel glanced back at them, nodding slowly.

"I'll be all right. Go on ahead and reserve our rooms."

"I picked out a tavern earlier when we came into town." Morris spoke up, doing his best not to look at the infuriating priest. "We'll meet you there for dinner." The young woman nodded to them all, stopping at Morris at the last.

"It'll be all right." She assured the little devil, shaking her head. "Stay with Ness and Marik."

"Like there's another choice?" The devil snuffed, his anger burning down to a quiet disgust. "Take care, Rachel. Do your best."

Morris kept himself perched on Marik's shoulder as the three departed the small temple, their healer lost to her goal.

Father Perdast tucked his hands in his sleeves. "You keep odd company for a bringer of life."

"They are my companions." Rachel responded quietly, turning about to give the older man a stern gaze. "My friends." She felt like saying more, and she could have, but she held her tongue and sighed, hanging up her cloak on a wall hanger by the doorway leading into the temple's interior.

"You don't have the look of a cleric of Solares in you, Miss Ashbury."

"I'm not." She answered, not looking back to him as she untied her long red scarf and hung it with her blue cloak.

"Oh? For which deity are you a servant of?" He asked then.

"I'm a cleric to none." Rachel replied, summoning a locus of white light about her hands and staring back at the man at last. Her calm blue eyes stopped his next question before he could pose it. "But I do serve as healer to one you would not know."

Frowning, the man accessed one of the spells he had prayed for that day, a white light filling his eyes and seeing her aura, searching for that spark of good.

The radiant and tranquil blue of Rachel's aura dispelled any doubts he had in his mind as to her good intentions.

"There will be time for questions later." He said after a moment. "We must do what we can to aid their passing." He motioned to the interior of the temple and proceeded on.

Rachel dug into her satchel, pulling out a medium-sized box containing all her medical supplies. It contained stitches, thread, rubbing alcohol and needles, and other items. It was the basis, beyond her powerful spells, for treatment.

"Tell me everything you know about the disease." She said firmly, walking in after Father Emile Perdast.

* * *

><p>"The way that old man was looking at me, you would have thought I'd slaughtered a baby in front of him." Morris growled, his tail lashing angrily as they left the temple and proceeded down the street.<p>

Ness exhaled. "Morris, I know you're upset…"

"Well, of _course _I am!" The imp snapped, jumping from Marik's shoulder and taking to the air between the Sorceror and the swordsman. "If that priest wants something to get angry at, I'll fly back there and sting him in the neck. Then we'll see how high and mighty he acts when he's paralyzed and drooling on the floor!"

"Morris!" Ness admonished the imp, dumbstruck. "How can you say such things?"

The winged devil let out another sigh and flew back in defeat to Marik's shoulder. "Simple. Most people annoy the hell out of me." He turned himself invisible with a wave of his hand, still staying on his perch. "Because most people are stupid."

"These are simple folk." Ness reminded the imp. "I too, was taken aback at your appearance at first, remember?" He found it difficult to try and talk to somebody who he couldn't see, and it garnered odd looks from the passing townspeople. "In time, I came to know you. And now I consider you a curious, but welcome ally. They would too, in time."

"Time is something I don't think they have." The imp muttered back, his voice floating out of the nothingness. "The sooner we get out of this hole, the better."

Ness chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "Aah, but the choice isn't ours anymore, lads. It's Rachel's. Only when she has done everything she can, will she be ready to move on." He pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded. "I somehow feel as though this epidemic is within her power to solve."

Marik remained as silent as ever, and Morris kept quiet, wondering just what the swordsman meant. Ness spoke up after receiving no response. "She's quite powerful, isn't she?"

"Good thing, too." Morris added. "Elsewise, your little adventure would have gotten rough a long time ago."

"True enough. I think, though, we may have been underestimating her." Ness added, a curious smile coming to his face. "We're lucky to have her with us."

"I suppose so." Morris said warily. "Just what are you trying to say, Ness?"

The swordsman froze for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing important, I suppose. Just that she's as vital to our success as you or Marik."

"It sounds like you're counting yourself out of the formula, Ness." The imp teased. "Why would you go and do a thing like that?"

The swordsman chuckled a bit as they reached the inn. "I'm the leader. My contribution is assumed." Ending their conversation on that note, and leaving Morris in better spirits than when they had left the temple, Ness felt pleased with himself.

He opened up the door, fingering the clay coin that Father Perdast had given them. He didn't expect much, and his low expectations were met by the humble establishment's interior.

The innkeeper looked up from the desk, disheveled and surprised by the presence of travelers. "Oh, and what's this now?" He mused, setting down a record book he had been writing in. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" With Morris invisible, the oddest thing was the six and some foot tall man dressed all in black.

"We require lodging; three rooms, if you have them."

"I have four open at the moment, so you're in luck." The innkeeper said grimly. "Or not in luck. The price'll be three silver for one night altogether, though I'd advise you to leave Kalen and flee. Death's come to this town, and it's not particular about who it claims."

"So we've heard." Ness continued, nonplussed. He walked up to the front desk. "As a matter of fact, one of our friends has joined the effort to rescue the sick at the temple just down the street. And Father Perdast gave us this." He set down the clay coin, looking up expectantly at the man.

The innkeeper nodded slowly. "That's the Father's mark, all right. It seems you're here at the courtesy of the temple, then. Your rooms are free."

Ness nodded. "We appreciate it. Our other associate won't be here until later, will that be all right?"

"The first three doors down that hall are yours, then." The innkeeper said, shrugging. "When your friend gets here, tell 'em thanks from me. We'll take whatever help we can get."

Ness smiled. "We'll do that. Some rest will be welcomed, after our travels."

"Oh? And just where do you all hail from, eh?"

"We set out from Westshire in Crannogh Heights some time ago." Ness answered calmly.

"Aah, I see." The innkeeper mused. "Oh, something else. We don't serve food here; for that, you'll have to visit the tavern across the street."

Morris frowned, and finally spoke up, leaning his face up against Marik's hood to imitate the direction of the voice. "Wouldn't that put us at risk of catching the illness?"

The innkeeper's eyes were quiet. "This accursed plague's come down on all of us. It doesn't matter where we are, it will get us all soon. You set yourselves in harm's way the moment you came into Kalen." He shrugged nonchalantly. "You might as well die on a full stomach."

Grim, though true words, the Sorceror thought, wondering just what sort of prayer he knew that was relevant to the situation. There wasn't one, he finally decided.

Ness and Marik wandered down the hallway of rooms and dropped off their gear, walking back out past the innkeeper.

"I trust our possessions will be safe?" Ness asked the man. The innkeeper gave a grim nod of his head.

"My inn's a safe place. But even more, you came bearing the temple's mark of hospice, and there's not a soul in all of Kalen who would violate that."

As Ness, Marik, and the invisible Morris walked out of the inn to go eat at the tavern and gain a better bearing on the town's predicament, Ness couldn't help but crack a smile.

"See? That priest may not have enjoyed your company, Morris, but you were welcomed with the rest of us."

"Not like he had a choice, not if he wanted Rachel's help." The imp grumbled. "And don't be getting any ideas in your head about that inn's hospitality to my kind either."

"Now what would make you say that?" Ness asked, frowning.

"Obviously, you didn't notice the small sign behind the desk." Morris finished, annoyed but also with a joke too good to pass up. "No pets allowed."

* * *

><p>Orville Gracefoot, a bard gone a'wanderin', sat at the bar nursing a glass of elven wine. The last time he had been through here, two seasons before, he had been hard-pressed to find a seat. Now, though, it was empty save for himself and the bartender, a mere boy. The barkeep offered him a curious look, and the patron pushed back his blond hair, looking briefly to the young man.<p>

"Where's your da, son?" Orville asked. "I was hoping to catch up on old times."

The young man's face went crestfallen at that. "He's abed, sir. Sick, like my mother and my two sisters. I'm the only one left untouched so far."

The traveler grimaced and took another sip of his wine. "I apologize, I didn't know." He murmured quietly. "This illness has taken nearly all the town. The speed of it amazes even me."

The door to the tavern opened up, letting sunlight stream into the dimly lit common room. The bartender blinked at the sight of more newcomers.

"We were hoping for a seat and a warm meal." Said the first, more normal looking of the two. A green cloak was draped about his shoulders, and his face was marred by a thick stubble. His counterpart, a looming hooded figure all in black and towering at well above six feet, said nothing.

The bartender motioned around. "Pick a table, or have a seat up at the bar. We're empty, as you can see. The stew's not quite ready yet, but it'll be ready for dinner. What'll you be having?"

"I'll have some aged stout, if you've got it in stock." The green-cloaked swordsman proclaimed.

"Nothing for me yet, thanks." Came the grumbling voice of his other. Orville paused and turned his head about.

He managed a closer look at the tall hooded man, keeping his frown to himself. His sharp ears had heard every syllable. He could have sworn that the man's reply came not from the interior of his hood, but from his shoulder, of all places. Nothing was there, though. He thought about it for a few moments as the two went to sit down and the young barkeep brought over a small bottle of stout, uncorking it at the table. "Will you be wanting a glass or the whole thing, sir?"

Ness threw a pair of gold dragons onto the table in answer. "Leave the bottle." He said with a sigh. "We've plenty of time to wait." The amount he had thrown was easily half a gold more than the usual price, so the young barkeep considered it a mark of fortune in dark times and went back to his post, the money jingling in his pocket.

Nursing his wine, Orville looked to the two with minor interest. Something about them caught his eye, though he couldn't place it. So he chose to simply watch them as casually as he could, looking for something to help his addled, intoxicated mind figure out why he was so interested in them.

The table had a trio of glasses already waiting there, so Ness turned two over, pouring himself a drink and looking to Marik. "Are you sure you don't want some, lad?"

The bar's only other patron leaned forward a bit, just enough to crane his sensitive ears towards the sound.

"I'm not all that thirsty at the moment." Came the reply. Just as before, it did not emanate from the tall man's hood, but his shoulder. Smiling to himself, Orville set his glass aside and walked over to them, the now empty bottle of wine in hand.

The two glanced up at the smiling man with some measure of guarded curiosity. "Is there something we can do for you, sir?" Asked the swordsman hesitantly.

"Oh, nothing much. I just thought I'd invite you two to come sit up at the bar with me. This tavern is quite lonely as of late, and I'd enjoy the company." The blond-haired man began, speaking in flattering terms.

Ness considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm afraid we must decline. It will be some time before our friend gets here, and we would prefer to wait in solitude."

"Aah, your answer wounds me…but I suppose that is the end of it." Orville sighed, looking defeated. Only at the last moment, he hefted the bottle in a lazy, underhanded throw towards Marik's face.

Responding quickly with reflexes honed through years of practice, Marik summoned forth his Sorceror's hand and caught the empty spinning bottle before it could strike him.

Orville tugged at his chin, his smile growing wider. "After all, Sorcerors aren't known to be particularly cheerful companions." He glanced over to Marik's shoulder, his eyes unseeing, but knowing all the same what stood there. "Your familiar may as well come out of hiding. I know he's there."

Ness was a little wide-eyed as after a moment's pause, Morris let fly with a curse in the infernal tongue and reappeared, his beady black eyes glaring up at the far too observant man.

In this case, the blond-haired man's surprise was evident. "Wha…Well, I'll be. An imp." He nodded appreciatively to Marik. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but notice the presence of your friend. The position of his voice gave it away." He bowed politely. "I didn't mean to make any trouble, I just wanted to see if I was correct." He turned away, hoping to consider himself lucky by not getting a powerful blast in the back of his head for his bravado; imps were dangerous little creatures on their own, but they were known to traffic only with the most insidious of mages, and he had no intention of stumbling into that hornet's nest.

Yet all the same, he had invited the challenge, so Morris, now revealed, carried along Marik's stern words. "There's few people so reckless as to expose a hidden familiar, so tell me…Are you a brigand or a bard?"

To this, the blond-haired man paused and turned about weakly, realizing he would not soon walk out of this situation he had created. "A musician, I'm afraid." He mustered tentatively. "Just a simple traveler."

The imp smiled. "If that's the case, then sit down." The floating six-fingered hand motioned to the empty seat at the table, and the man's shoulders sunk a little lower.

"Please, I didn't mean to make trouble for you. I can pay you, if you'll let me leave safely." Orville pleaded.

Morris rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of…Listen, you're not in trouble. You surprised us, but so far you haven't run off screaming. So that speaks a little to your credit, or at least to the brains in your head." The imp paused for a moment, then thought of an old parable he had heard Marik repeat once. Checking with his friend with a quick thought, he let out a toothy smile. "Tell you what. See if you can figure out the parable to this story."

The bard leaned forward, curious.

"A father and his son were in the woods, and walked together for some distance. Along their way, they stumbled across a wolf whose leg had been caught in a trap. He was flailing angrily about, and the old man reached to free him. His son called out for him to stop, saying that the wolf would just as soon attack them after he was free. The father shook his head and freed the creature anyhow, and the wolf limped away for a fair distance, then transformed into an injured, but thankful druid. That night, they were given a fine meal as reward and sent on their way. The young man asked his father how he had known, and the old man had one simple answer. What was it?"

To this, the wandering minstrel smiled, realizing the lesson and its source. "Don't judge a man by his outer appearance; it often disguises the truth." He chuckled, relieved instantly, and held out his hand. "My apologies. I didn't know you were patrons of the Traveler. My name is Orville Gracefoot, traveling minstrel and humble servant of Fanachlor."

The magical hand gave Orville's hand a quick shake, and the imp grinned. "Well met, indeed."

"Your very appearance indicates you all are not far from the road. Tell me, by what route did you come?"

"Fenderson's Pass." Ness said simply, and the bard's look of surprise and disbelief was met with a chuckle. "I take it that's a little hard to believe."

"If you knew what was inside those old caverns, you would have a hard time believing yourself."

"A tired vampire who lost his life to greed. Well, both lives." Morris answered. "There's not much left in those tunnels except lifeless skeletons and bodies again."

Realization in Orville's green eyes set in, and he cocked his head to the side. "It sounds like quite a story. And I'd love to hear it, if you'd care to share it."

Ness glanced over to Morris and Marik, who both nodded their heads, Morris a little more emphatically.

"Well, all right." Ness Benson said, draining a bit more of his stout before smiling. "I suppose we have some time ahead of us."

Strangely enough, as Ness regaled the minstrel of their trials, with Morris offering commentary as he went, it didn't seem long at all.

* * *

><p>The bard sat back, the depth of it all still amazing him. "Unbelievable." Orville finally said. "All of it, and I wouldn't believe it for a moment except…" He paused for a moment, then chuckled. "All the same. This is one of the more fantastic stories I've heard. Ness Benson, Marik Observant, Morris Redtail and…Rachel Ashbury, wasn't it?"<p>

"Aye." Ness said, tapping his glass. " Several times she's kept us moving forward."

"They should write a song about you all, you know." Orville commented, smiling. "Or maybe I should." He sighed and glanced around. "But now you find yourselves here, and facing a threat that cannot be dispersed so easily." He shrugged his shoulders. "I would advise you all to leave Kalen as soon as you can, and escape this plague, but something tells me that won't be happening."

"As much as I'd like to, no." Ness agreed solemnly. "Our search for the Grey Shadow is once more on hold, while Rachel does what she feels she must."

"She sounds like a very strong-willed young woman." Orville reciprocated, walking back up to the bar and grabbing his feathered, broad-brimmed hat and abandoned wine. "She is lucky to have found such good friends and allies for her journey." He turned and walked back to the table, sitting down. "Even one so fraught with danger. Ness, I know of a few whispers of this Grey Shadow. He's an assassin of the deadliest breed, a solitary sort who leaves all his victims headless. Why would you chase him, knowing how dangerous he is?"

"I've been chasing him for eight years, Mr. Gracefoot." Ness Benson answered. "I long ago stopped caring about his reputation."

"No, it would seem you have your own to worry about." Came Orville's soft reply as he took another delicate sip of his drink. Ness' face darkened, and he glared at the man.

"We'll leave any such talk focused on the assassin, if you please." The warning was clear, and Orville nodded. Marik and Morris were left wondering just what had prompted the interchange, but didn't pursue it any farther.

They lost the opportunity when the door opened and a tired looking Rachel, dressed in scarf and cloak, stepped inside the tavern and glanced about. Her eyes recognized her traveling companions, and she brightened up at the curious face sitting beside them.

"Orville?" She said disbelievingly. "Orville, is that you?"

The bard's smile went wide. "Who else could it be?" As tired as she was, she ran up and embraced him quickly, a gesture of affection he returned with a laugh. "Is that a typical greeting for you Calyssans? I think I could get used to it."

Rachel pulled away, shaking her head. "Just what are you doing here?"

"Oh, just passing through on my way to Lightfell." He said, his mirth dwindling down. "I was saddened to hear the news of this town's troubles." He motioned to Ness, Marik, and Morris. "Your friends have told me that you have taken to working in the temple here at Kalen, in hopes of staving off the disease and finding a cure."

"It's not easy." Rachel admitted, and walked over to their table to take a seat. Ness threw a wary glance at the bard, then looked to Rachel.

"Rachel, how did you and Mr. Gracefoot come to know each other?"

"We met briefly in Westshire, the day before I joined up with you." Rachel explained. "Orville was very helpful in helping me to obtain breakfast for the others of my order who have set up a shrine in that town."

"So I was, so I was." The minstrel laughed, his voice almost breaking out into song right there. "I also tried to convince Miss Ashbury to travel with me, but she had her duties, she told me." He winked at her. "I guess that didn't last long. I warned you about that wanderlust, didn't I? It's a shame you aren't on the road with me, making my days brighter and my nights warm, but…Well, I'm glad to see you have such strong friends." He tossed a grin to the grimfaced Ness. "I hope they've been treating you as well as I would have, eh?"

Rachel nodded, her smile fading into the exhaustion of her work so far.

"So how goes your work with that crotchety old cleric?" Morris posed. "Have you been able to do anything for them?"

"It's a strange disease." Rachel admitted after a time. "Father Perdast told me people around here began to get sick about two weeks ago. It only takes about four days after their first symptoms before they die." She shook her head. "It's funny, though. The fever, the shaking, everything about it makes me think that it's not a disease, but some kind of poison."

The barkeep came by, looking at them all. "The stew's ready. How many bowls are we going to need?"

"I'd say five…" Orville began calmly, but the imp coughed.

"Just four. Marik's not all that hungry at the moment."

Rachel looked up to him. "Could I get a glass of water as well? I'm a little thirsty." The man nodded and left to put together the meal.

Ness rubbed at his chin, looking to Rachel. "You think it's a poison?"

"They act and die as if it was a poison." She answered. "A slow-acting one, but I'm not entirely convinced I'm right. I tried to divine poison in a few of the temple's dying, and found nothing of it." She exhaled, pushing her hair back. "Then there's the other thing. It strikes out at random, as if the entire town and everyone around it were doomed. I can't find a reasonable cause for it, so all I can do is try and ease their suffering, and temporarily bolster their strength." She looked even more tired at that. "And it's starting to wear me out."

The bartender came by with Rachel's glass of water and set it down. "The stew will be coming in a moment." He promised, disappearing again.

Orville tapped his fingers against the table. "If anyone can solve this mysterious disease, Rachel, I am sure you can find the answer."

"You have an awful lot of faith in somebody you've never worked with before." The girl said, smirking. Orville smiled at that and gave a shake of his head.

"I have heard of your accomplishments from Ness and your little friend Morris, and those speak volumes on their own." The bard explained. "In some cases, stories are more accurate when they are related by those who are not the centerpoint of them."

"Or they might have been lying to make me seem more powerful than I am." Rachel said in reply, lifting her glass of water up.

She paused just before she tipped it to let the cool water slide down her throat. Opening her eyes with a sudden notion, she set it back down on the table and frowned at it, seeing it in a new light.

The action didn't go unnoticed, but it was Morris who spoke. "Rachel, just what are you…"

"Quiet." The healer commanded, and the imp's tiny mouth snapped shut, blinking at the forcefulness in her tone. She waved a hand over it and closed her eyes. "Rosequeen, fill my sight…show me poisons with your light."

A brief glow overcame her, and she looked down at it with eyes that glowed green. The action didn't surprise Ness or the rest of her band, but Orville was a little taken aback by the ease at which she had erected the spell.

All too fast did her eyes widen, staring down into that harmless glass of water. "By the goddess…It's poisoned." She looked about to the approaching barkeep, carrying a tray of bowls of piping hot stew. "And they're poisoned!" She exclaimed in dismay.

At once Ness was up, knocking the tray and bowls away. They clattered to the ground, spilling their contents over the dirt floor. The barkeep let out a brief cry as Ness hoisted him up into the air by the front of his shirt.

"You monster! Trying to kill us, the same as everybody else in this town?"

Rachel shook her head to clear her senses and looked up at Ness in horror. "No, Ness! Put him down!"

The young man's eyes were wide. "Please, sir, I don't want no trouble, I wasn't trying to…"

Ness didn't respond to Rachel's plea. Rage and fear had him in their talons, for himself and for his allies. He lifted the boy up higher, snarling.

It was only when Morris fluttered onto his shoulder and poignantly rubbed his poisonous tail against Ness' neck that the man began to lose his rage.

"Easy now, chief." The imp warned calmly. "There's two ways to go about this. You can either set the poor man down yourself, or I sting you, and you drop him anyway." Ness turned his head to the side just enough to meet Morris' stern gaze. "And I _really_ don't want to go stinging my friends, even if they are belligerent maniacs."

Ness thought about it for a few more moments, then slowly set the man back to his feet. "You had given us poison."

The man's eyes went wide. "P…po…poison?! I swear, sir, I didn't know!"

Rachel walked over, carrying the glass of seemingly harmless water with a delicate hand. "Where did you get this?"

"From our water storage in the back."

"And where do you get that from?"

"The same place everyone in Kalen gets their water." The young barkeep stammered. "The river."

At the word 'everyone', Orville's ears perked up, and Rachel glanced back to the table, where the bard gave a knowing smile.

"You were looking for the source of all their problems." Orville said, his tone measured. "It seems to me you've found it."

* * *

><p>They returned briefly to the inn to collect their things, and check Rachel in. The directions from the still shaken barkeep at the tavern led Ness's band and the tagalong Orville to the river in question not more than five minutes outside of town. It looked placid and harmless enough, flowing along the muddy shores…but another focused divination from Rachel's innate energies revealed that the river, like the glass of water she had almost drank, was loaded with the poison.<p>

"This is not good." The girl said, clearing her vision again and looking to the others with a worried expression. "Not good at all. The entire river is polluted."

"And probably has been for at least two weeks, if not more." Morris pointed out. "But how come nobody else ever thought to look for it?"

"Father Perdast thought it a disease, and it truly must have seemed like one." Rachel answered, shaking her head. "It's incredible. Not in a single victim did I find a trace of this same dangerous substance. It's as if it somehow broke down into the body and truly became a disease."

"A poison that becomes a plague?" Orville murmured, unsettled by the notion. "It sounds preposterous, but moreso, dangerous." He glanced up the river, shaking his head. "And there is likely no end in sight."

Ness threw his cloak back from one shoulder. "Well, now that we know we can't trust the water, chances are good we can't trust any of the food here either. I'm afraid we're stuck on field rations and our waterskins for the duration." He thought about it for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief.

"And sealed spirits are all right too, I suppose. Thank goodness I asked for that stout and not the local brew, elsewise I might have become one of your sick and dying."

"That only resolves our immediate concern." Orville argued. "What is to be done about the river itself? The rest of Kalen does not have the luxury of a supply of clean water for the time being, and they'll go on using it, even if we did warn them of its dangers. They simply have no other choice."

"That's where you're wrong." Rachel suddenly said, shaking her head. "I have the power to make fresh and untainted water. Hopefully, so does Father Perdast."

Morris looked at her. "So now on top of trying to save them all, you're going to give them their water as well?"

The young woman stared to the imp with deep eyes. "Do I have a choice? I made an oath to do everything in my power to save the sick and heal the injured."

Orville offered a weak smile at that. "A strange oath, Rachel. Why not just one to your deity, Calyssa?"

"I'm not a true priestess." She answered calmly. "But I do carry her message wherever I go." She looked back to the river. "You're right though, Orville. This poisoned water? It's not going to go away."

"It has to be coming from someplace." Ness murmured. "Maybe an agent of the dark gods, like Mortus? Such death and disease must surely curry favor with that monster."

"It must indeed come from someplace." Orville agreed, steeling his resolve. "And I shall set forth to find the source of this poisonous water."

Rachel blinked in surprise at that. "Orville, are you sure? I mean, I'm not forcing you to."

The bard smiled at that, tipping his feathered hat to her. "Aah, but all the same, I do so, if only to try and bring a smile to your tired face. Do not think to try and sway me, Miss Ashbury, for a minstrel's mind is fleeting, and once set, cannot be moved."

Finding a smile somewhere within herself, the girl raised her hands in defeat. "All right, Orville. Go with my thanks…and my blessings."

"Oh, he's not going alone." Ness interjected suddenly, catching them all by surprise. The swordsman shot Orville a stern look and harrumphed. "There's more mischief in you than muscle. I'll accompany you, just in case we meet up with trouble." He looked back to Rachel. "It's the least I can do. I'm of no use to you here in Kalen."

Morris rolled his eyes. "I suppose then, that just leaves me and Marik." He paused, waiting for the Sorceror's mental reply. He blinked at the outcome, then harrumphed. "Well, then. I guess I'm coming with you too, Orville. Alone. Marik's opted to stay behind and keep an eye on Rachel."

"Will that be all right?" Orville asked, concerned. "I mean, we may go a fair distance. Won't that impede on your…"

"Our connection?" The imp snorted. "Not hardly. As long as we're on the same continent, we've figured, we can always see how the other is doing. Marik can keep tabs on us back here in Kalen by that alone." He fluttered over and landed on Ness' shoulder, harrumphing. "Besides, the farther away I am from that blasted temple and these narrowminded sodchuckers, the better."

Rachel smiled at them. "I wish I could come with you, but…"

"We know." Ness assured her, setting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing it briefly with one of his rare encouraging grins. "Your place is here, and besides, with all the energy you've exhausted, you'll be too worn out to be traveling the distances we'll be trying to cover today. Marik will keep watch on you until we return. And I promise, Rachel…I will come back." His quiet blue eyes met hers, recognizing the surprise in them. "I will come back."

She nodded slowly, then dug around in her satchel and removed the unused potions of healing she had kept from their excursion through Fenderson's Pass; The one that Ness had loaned her, and the one that Marik had never needed. The rest had been expended in their ferocious journey through the undead hordes wielded by the now dead vampire Thomas Fenderson.

She set the pair in Ness' hand with a nod. "Take these, then. I do not know what you go up against."

As Ness backed away, the jocular minstrel threw an arm around the older man's shoulder with a laugh. "Fear not, my fair Rachel, for it does not matter what we go up against! I would fight through a band of orc raiders myself just to see your smile once again!"

Ness hefted his traveling rucksack over his shoulder again, rolling his eyes at the dramatics of the bard. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Mr. Gracefoot. Let's be off, then. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can find what is setting this river to a harmful state."

Orville Gracefoot seemed odd in comparison to Ness. While the swordsman dressed in a chainmail shirt and cloak and had dagger and longsword kept close at hand, the minstrel wore only light studded leather armor, tunic and trousers and his bright feathered broad-brimmed hat, and only a single rapier for defense. Yet with Morris Redtail, the faithful imp of Marik Observant flying about them, they seemed as good a pair as any to be setting out towards unknown danger.

They were some distance away before Rachel glanced up to Marik. "Do you suppose they'll be all right?"

_"I imagine so."_ Came the warbling reply, tapering off to a hiss at the end. _"After all, bards can be quite resourceful."_

"Well, that and they have Morris with them." The young Calyssan offered.

_"Morris tends to create almost as many problems as he solves." _The Sorceror said, letting out a soft sound that might have been a chuckle, though it sounded more like a wheezing cough.

Rachel glanced up at the quiet and faceless mage, frowning. "Why didn't you go with them? You could have, you know. I wasn't going to die here by myself."

Marik considered that for a moment, weighing his options. He withheld his first response, of saying that he had seen Rachel at work with her healing arts, and that he was worried she would exhaust herself to a dangerous point. He also stopped himself from saying the second idea that popped into his mind; saying that he didn't want to leave any friend of his alone, and that dividing them seemed the best idea at the time.

So he went with an outer observation instead, and one that best fit his last name.

_"With both Orville and Ness going, I thought it best to remain behind."_ He remarked casually, turning away from the river and walking towards the town with Rachel beside him. _"There's a fine barrier between them, and when it falls, it will be much to the woe of anyone around them."_

Rachel Ashbury frowned at the remark. "What makes you think they'll be at each other's throats soon?"

To this, Marik failed in his judgment by just a tad, identifying the source of tension, but not the underlying cause.

_"Ness didn't particularly seem to enjoy Mr. Gracefoot's eccentric tendencies."_

"And what about you?" She prodded coyly. "What's your opinion on the man?"

_"In general, I like him, but I have my reasons."_

"Good." Rachel said, catching him in her trap. "Then we'll have something to talk about tonight before we turn in for bed." Before he could muster a complaint, she dashed on ahead, rushing towards the temple and towards her work.

The Sorceror, his face hidden by his overhanging hood, managed an exasperated sigh. His initial assessment about her had been correct, he decided. He couldn't understand her half of the time, and there was a simple explanation for that.

There had truly been no one like her back at the Roadside Temple.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Ness, Morris, and their temporary comrade, the free-spirited Orville Gracefoot found themselves still trudging along the river's side. Ness said little and Morris laughed his head off at the jokes the minstrel kept putting out.<p>

"Perhaps, Morris, you've heard of this one." Orville said cheerily, strumming another chord on the mandolin he had made appear out of thin air. "Three centaurs were walking through the woods one day when they spotted a striking female of their kind, bathing in the waters. So they thought to themselves, surely one of us was meant to bed her, but who?"

"For the love of it all, stop before this gets out of hand!" The little devil giggled, still struggling to stay in the air after the last joke.

Orville pushed on ahead, indifferent to the feigned pleas. "So each of them comes up with a different idea of how to prove who is most worthy. The first centaur says, _"We'll all charge into the pool at once, then fight each other to prove who is most deserving of her affections!"_ The second one says, _"No, we'll fight each other on the shore, so as to not to get her wet with our splashing."_ The third one doesn't say anything for a while, so the other two decide that they'll fight on the shore and then get to the water. So they charge into the clearing, hooves stomping and fists flying, and make a great ruckus. The first and second centaurs are getting into it, and they know they'll have some black eyes in the morning. One of them chances a look towards the filly, only to find her walking off with the third centaur. _"Hey!"_ cries out the first centaur. _"What are you doing?"_ And the third centaur, smug as a horseman ever was, says _"I went with my idea; You two fight it out, and I'll take the lady home!"_

Morris howled with delight, losing his balance in the air and plummeting to the ground. Only a quick jump forward by the more composed Ness saved him from an impact with the ground, but that didn't stop his fit. Rolling about in Ness' palms, the imp hiccupped. "Stop it!" He pleaded. "I don't think I can take anymore!"

Orville sighed, pushing back his hat. "Aah, I fear that last one has worn me out. I shall stop for the time." He glanced over to Ness, flashing another one of his disarming grins. "So then, Master Benson, is there a story or song you'd wish to hear?"

"The only thing I'd like out of you is your silence." Came the terse voice of the swordsman. "We're here to find the source of the poison that is destroying Kalen, and you're telling jokes as if we were out for an afternoon stroll." He glanced back to the bard, the warmth of their tavern stay fading. "Rachel entrusted me to see to this mission, and I won't have you ruining that."

"She entrusted _us,_ you mean." Orville answered after a pause. "As I recall, it was I who volunteered first." Ness chewed his jaw, but kept silent. Orville, no stranger to solemn fellows, let the matter drop.

Morris finally recovered his composure, fluttering high up into the air and looking farther over the horizon than either of the gentlemen could see. "How far do you think we'll have to go before we find something suspicious?" He hollered down.

"Hours, perhaps. Maybe days." Came Orville's answer. "So far, I've seen nothing suspicious along this river. Have you, Ness?"

The swordsman grunted. "If I had, I'd be charging ahead into the thick of it." He glanced up to the imp. "So what has your view afforded you up there, Morris?"

"It looks like the river comes out of a pretty large forest up ahead. I think I remember seeing one on Marik's map earlier, but I can't remember the name."

"I can." Came Orville's pleasant reply as the imp fluttered down into earshot of their regular voice. "They're named after a nymph who once lived there; a creature of the wilderness whose strength rivaled most druids, a long time ago. They call it Sarine's Woods, in her honor." He glanced over to Ness with a grin. "Perhaps you're more familiar with Sarine's more famous sister, Nessene? Rachel journeyed through the latter's island, when she came to our world."

Ness chuffed again. "I've spent all my life in Ashra, boy. The rest of Terrus, I leave to those with grander dreams than I. So there's a forest up ahead, which this river flows from."

"That's the rub of it." Orville agreed, doing his best to not feel disturbed at the attitude of his companion. "And the river doesn't continue beyond the woods, that I recall hearing. Which means…"

"The source, and whatever's causing this poison, is in those woods." Morris finished, looking to Ness.

The swordsman said nothing, but tapped his hand against the pommel of his longsword.

* * *

><p>The edge of the woods was quiet, which they expected, but fifteen minutes in, they hadn't heard a sound. Ness and Morris were oblivious to it until the insightful and precocious Orville Gracefoot made mention of it.<p>

"So?" Ness huffed. "The birds aren't singing. What does that have to do with anything?"

"We should hear the robin's wail and the lark's chirp." Came Orville's reply, his wary green eyes glancing about the dim foliage. "All those are sounds of things being right, untouched…pristine." He flexed a gloved hand, resisting the urge to draw a weapon. "The absence of such sounds means one of two things; either this forest has been disturbed and the creatures are fearful, or there are no creatures here." Orville glanced to Ness. "Given this forest's history, I would eliminate the second out of hand."

"If the poison is coming from the river stemming from these woods, they might have fled to escape the blight themselves." Ness argued. "Do you go looking for trouble?"

"Oh, by the heavens, no." Orville responded. "But it has been my experience that trouble finds me."

"Sounds like my life." Morris grumbled. He spun about in the air and went invisible, drifting off into the distance for a better glance at their surroundings.

Orville walked on ahead, doing his best to be quiet in the silent forest. Ness followed behind, heavier in step than his associate. The bard seemed at ease within the woods, moving about branches and trails with a fluidity that Ness found hard to match. A few times, the cracking of broken branches underneath the older swordsman's feet made Orville pause and give a warning gaze to his companion. It was only after the fifth snap that Orville let out a petulant sigh.

"I swear, could you be any louder?"

"Do I look like I was meant to sneak about in haunted woods?" Ness asked, holding his arms out.

"No, you weren't." Orville said in exasperation. He turned about and led them to a more well worn path. "Tell me Ness, why did you decide to come along on this mission?"

"Well, I…I wanted to help out the village, and it seemed like the best choice to take at the time." Ness said, after a brief pause.

Orville gave a smirk at that, seeing through the weak excuse. "Now tell me why you really came along."

Ness said nothing for a time, and Orville chuckled.

"I see. I had placed your friend Marik as the quiet one of the group, but it seems that title goes to you." He paused their trek and sat down, sighing. "Do you not like minstrels, Ness?"

"I never said that." Came the gruff reply. "Marik has a bard's knowledge, and I enjoy his company. I just don't like you."

"Aah, now it comes through." Orville said, taking off his wide-brimmed hat. "What have I done to displease you? Was it something I said? Something I did?" He thought for a moment. "It's because I know of your…reputation, is that it?"

The swordsman winced at that, but shook his head.

"Something else I mentioned in the tavern." Orville suggested. "Perhaps dealing…" He paused, then offered a knowing smile. "Aaah. It's about Rachel, isn't it?"

Ness looked away, and the motion betrayed the truth.

Orville sat on his hand. "Well, I'll be…You dog, you. You've become smitten with the girl, haven't you?"

Ness exhaled. "She shines with a light I've not ever seen. And it pains me to think that you and her…"

"Oh, stop it." The minstrel chided him. "We met each other for all but half an hour in the marketplace of Westshire, Ness. I have thought about her, certainly, but I have no claim over her." He rubbed at his chin, then looked to Ness with a chuckle. "Still, I have an idea. Why don't we place a wager on this little trial of ours?"

The swordsman frowned. "What sort of wager did you have in your crooked little mind?"

Orville hummed for a moment, pleased with himself. "It seems that you and I are attracted to Miss Ashbury with equal fervor, yet we know that only one will ever succeed. It only makes sense that the one who is the strongest shall lay claim to her affections. So whoever plays the largest part in ending this poison's flow into Kalen will be proclaimed the victor, and the other shall step aside."

Ness leaned down a bit, leveling a gaze with the minstrel. "Oh, but I've remembered that story you told to Morris, about the centaurs. What's to stop you from being the third one?"

"True, there are three of us on this jaunt." Orville chuckled. "But I doubt very much that Morris is competing for her wiles. And furthermore, I may be a knave at times, a cad at others, but my word is my oath." He extended his hand. "A gentleman's match, Mr. Benson. The loser will make his way gracefully…"

"And the winner will be allowed the privilege of courting her." Ness said, shaking on it. Steely blue eyes met mirthful green, and they nodded to each other.

A fluttering of wings caught their attention, and the still invisible Morris hovered in front of them, the only indication of his presence his whiny voice.

"I think I've found something." He commented, a hint of worry in his voice. "I don't know what to make of it, but…"

Orville stood back up. "Well, we shall just have to look then. Which direction do we go?"

"It's about two hundred yards north of here." Came the reply. Following Morris back along the route he had come, they soon found what had left their small comrade so disturbed.

It was a grove of sorts, in the quiet woods. Or at least, it had been a grove once. All that remained now was charred brush, and where it was not burned…

Orville pulled his hand back from the remaining foliage about the burned grove, his eyes wide. "It's all been ruined!" He finally managed. "As if somebody had come and poisoned their roots." Evidence to the claim, the lush green had given way to a sickly yellow and white, wilting and withering away.

Ness ventured a fair distance from his comrade, frowning at something unseen behind a particularly large tree stump that was charred all the way through. "This forest…Sarine's Woods, wasn't it? Wouldn't it have some sort of protector?"

"Naturally." Orville responded. "While I'm not entirely familiar with the druids' ways, I do know that they try to safeguard such places as these…The Druids of Ashra are particularly careful upon the infringement of the forests by the outside world."

"Then it stands to reason there was one here." Ness surmised, setting a hand to his hip.

"I would think so." Orville blinked. "What are you getting at, Ness?"

The swordsman cocked a finger to his comrade, who trotted over and soon paled.

The stoic Ness, all too used to death, didn't bat an eye at the charred corpse lying in front of them, hidden by the ruins of the grove.

"By Fanachlor's smile, what…What happened to him?"

Ness took a closer look at the body. Death seemed to be caused by total immolation. The flesh was blackened and curled away, and the bulk of the clothes were ruined. A wooden cudgel lay at its side, similarly blackened.

"Given what I can see, there was a druid guarding these woods." Ness proclaimed, stepping away from the body. "But he's long since passed on to the worlds beyond."

Orville took a few steps back, shaking his head. "Just what kind of monster would do something like this?"

"Something involving fire…and something harmful to these woods, from what you've said." Ness Benson glanced around them warily. "Beyond that, I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Ness cocked an eyebrow at the minstrel. "I'm just a simple-minded warrior. You're the one with all the answers."

* * *

><p><em>The Town of Kalen, Samael's Lands<em>

Rachel had spent the rest of the day at the temple, hard at work and beyond reach. With nothing of particular importance to do, Marik had ventured into his room and closed the door, removing his robe and mythril armor. He had collapsed back against his bed for an hour, resting his eyes and approaching sleep until some unbidden force had stirred him back to consciousness. It might have been his sense of restlessness; the worry that came with knowing that he was separated from Morris, and very much alone in a town that already saw him as a stranger. He worried for Ness and Orville as well, hoping that the two wouldn't doom each other by their personal conflict. But Morris, still capable of passing along empathic emanations despite the distance, indicated that things were fine for the time. Mysterious, a little unsettling, but fine.

Following that, he had added another entry into his journal on their progress. That had taken all of fifteen minutes, and still left him moving about.

It was aggravating to him; waiting had never been his specialty. He bided his time as best as he could, trying out and finding to his satisfaction that after countless months of trying and failing, he could finally muster enough energy to render himself invisible. Perhaps he had seen Morris do it enough he had picked up on it intuitively. It was just one explanation, but explanations concerned Marik little. As long as he could do something, that was good enough.

When suppertime came, he had written a quick note down and ventured over to the temple, once again in his thick cloak. A knock at the door had brought out the tired midwife, and when he handed over the note, a query as to Rachel's status, he had been told that the healer was still at work, and wouldn't be ready to leave for some time yet.

Disappointed, Marik turned about and ate a smaller meal, conserving his rations. It surprised him, sitting there in his room as he stared down at the dried beef in his clawed hand, to realize that he had unwittingly taken Rachel's advice, and had a very small portion. That worked out, though; His concern for Rachel replaced any humor when he realized she would be very tired and hungry when she finally did deign to leave the temple.

But the sunset came, and then passed on, and Marik still found himself waiting in the inn's lounge with no sign of the young woman. With the darkness of night filling everything and leaving only the illumination of the inn's fireplace, Marik finally exhaled. Whether she liked it or not, he decided, he had to go get Rachel. It wasn't healthy for her to be gone as long as she was. It was even less healthy for her to push herself so much.

_Morris, I wish you hadn't left me here alone. _He stood up from his chair with a sigh, glancing about and nodding in satisfaction when he found the manager absent. Just as well; Without Morris, Marik was effectively voiceless. He strolled outside of the inn, heading back towards the temple with an easy gait.

Just where would he find Rachel? Still in the middle of casting another one of her spells? Working on some strange concoction or potion? Fast asleep on a bed, so tired that she hadn't been able to make it back to the inn? If Marik was anything, he was more insightful and intelligent than most. That was, after all, how he had been given his surname.

For the longest time when he was young, he was just Marik; a lonely child with no friends, shunned by most, and barely understood by an aging Priest Rodian. But his eyes and his sharp mind were his greatest assets. When the first signs of his gift were announced at the age of four, they decided to try and help him learn more about magic and train him in it. It was then that they found a suitable name, one that matched his keen senses, which could pick out the most minute details and make remarkable observations on them. Observant. Marik Observant.

Marik was so lost in his own mind that he forgot for a few moments to pay attention to the outside world. It was just long enough for an old dog to run out of an alley, freeze in sight of the hooded Sorceror, and start to whine. Sensing the Sorceror's unusual quality, the animal's ears pressed against the sides of its head.

Marik froze as well at the encounter. It only whined for a few moments, then began to growl and walk towards him in a menacing fashion. Marik took a stumbling step backwards, more afraid of the mutt than it was of him.

"Damn dog! Get back here!" Came an aggravated shout from a young man who dashed out of the alley, only partially sickened by the poisonous plague that had struck all of Kalen. He gripped the animal by the rough leather collar about its neck and reined it in. "Stupid mutt." He looked up to Marik, apologetic. "Sorry about that. Old Tom here's always been testy around strangers."

The townsman's apology was like bubbles in churning water to Marik, though; unintelligible and drowned out. Too lost in his own fears, Marik tensed up for a moment, then bolted around the still growling dog and his owner, running for the temple at a speed that surprised the young man.

"Huh." He grumbled, scratching at his head. "I guess he doesn't like dogs." There was a grain of truth in that sentence, though it didn't capture the full extent of it. Marik didn't like dogs.

He was petrified of them.

Only when he reached the temple did Marik regain his senses, shaking the tremors off of him. The sight of that animal had brought back memories he had long ago tried to put beyond him. Clearing his mind, and repeating a silent mantra to soothe his nerves, Marik knocked on the temple door again, then let his hands hang down at his sides.

A few moments passed, and the midwife opened the door, burning candle in hand. She blinked a few times before she recognized the figure. "Oh, it's you again." She said easily. "Come looking for your girl, have you?"

Quiet as ever, Marik nodded once. The midwife opened the door a little wider and stepped aside. "I'm glad you came by, actually. Everyone's gone asleep, and the poor thing's worn herself out. She managed to keep more people alive than even Father Perdast, she did, but…" The woman didn't finish the sentence, letting her voice trail off into silence.

Marik stepped inside the temple, following after the midwife. As they ventured into the temple's center chamber, he couldn't help but notice Rachel's cloak and scarf still sitting on the coat rack, as clear an indication to her continued presence as anything.

Amidst the sleeping sick, some of who had regained the color in their faces, he finally found Rachel, slumped against one of the beds on her side, her breathing quiet and almost inaudible.

The midwife smiled back at Marik. "Poor dear wore herself out." She sighed and took her leave. "Make sure she gets some rest. She deserves it."

Only when her candlelight had disappeared from the temple's central room did Marik move into action. Kneeling down into a crouch by her side, he manifested his Sorceror's hand again and prepared to gently shake her back to the waking world.

He paused. Just before the eldritch hand reached down to nudge her shoulder, his eyes drew down. He found himself staring into her face, to her closed and quiet eyes, to the way that she barely stirred when she breathed. The tenderness that stood clear in her waking hours, stood there all the brighter in her sleep.

He must have stared for too long, for eventually she stirred, as if sensing his presence. Her eyes opened up, looking towards him for a long moment before she spoke.

"Marik?" He nodded in reply. She rubbed a hand at her eyes, taking in a deep breath that served as a yawn. "What are you doing here?"

Marik glanced about the quiet narthex, keenly aware of every person in the building. When he looked back to Rachel, she pulled herself into a sitting position, shaking her head at him.

"It's all right. They're all asleep, Marik. You can talk to me."

Emboldened by her woods, he shrugged. _"You never came back. I was a little worried." _

Rachel slowly stood up, glancing about. "It's funny. I thought I might be able to cure them all, you know? Break them free of this…this malady." She smiled weakly at that. "But it seems the best I can do is to ease their pain and slow their deaths."

_"That's a lot in itself." _Marik argued. _"More than Father Perdast was managing, I'd wager."_

Rachel brushed her hair back absentmindedly. "Between the two of us, we were able to summon about twenty gallons of clean water. It's not much, but with any luck, now that we know the water's bad, it will help to slow the spread of this strange poison."

_"There's nothing else you can do tonight." _Marik urged gently. _"And if you keep trying to force yourself more, you'll be in no shape to help them tomorrow." _

Rachel pursed her lips for a moment, but the faceless Sorceror didn't budge. His green Sorceror's hand floated around him, slowly tocking an index finger back and forth reproachfully.

Rachel at last sighed and nodded. "I suppose."

With Rachel in tow, a more composed Marik walked back out of the temple, heading for the inn which their rooms were located at.

"How do you think the others are doing, Marik?"

_"I don't think. I know." _Came the quiet reply. _"Morris is with them, after all."_

"So how are they doing?"

_"They're in a forest west of Kalen. They haven't met any trouble, but they're finding much to indicate the source of this disease."_

"That's good." Rachel murmured. "I think I could use a snack before bed. And some hot tea."

Marik nodded solemnly.

"I'd like it if you shared some with me." Rachel ventured cautiously.

Marik looked down at her, curious. _"Why?"_

"Well, as I remember, I did get you to agree to a conversation tonight." She smiled.

_"Tricked me, is more like it."_ Came the watery response.

"And beyond that?" Rachel paused for a moment, then shook her head. "Well, I suppose I just want somebody to talk to."

Marik's magical hand finally snuffed out as they ventured back out into the street. To Marik's relief, the dog and his owner were gone.

_"I'm not exactly the best conversationalist."_ Marik argued, trying to squeeze his way out of it.

"No, but you are a friend." Rachel answered. "And I'd prefer an honest friend any night." She looked to him. "Please? I may be tired, but it will be a while before I'll be able to sleep."

Marik sighed, his hood twisting left and right in a deliberate fashion. _"Some days, you frustrate me."_

Rachel walked on ahead of him. That way, he couldn't see the smug and triumphant smile she wore on her weary face.

* * *

><p>Rachel's thermos was magical, Marik realized as he cast another one of his favorite cantrips and took a closer look. Its function seemed clear enough; no matter how long they went, or how far they traveled, the canister would always produce about four cups of tea and a small handful of light and tasty trail cakes.<p>

Marik accepted the offered teacup, still steaming and hot, with his Sorceror's hand. _"Thank you."_ He said quietly.

Rachel finished pouring herself a cup of the honeyed tea and took a sip, relaxing back into her chair and closing her eyes. "Oh, that feels good." She sighed. "I don't think there's anything better than a cup of tea before bed."

Marik lifted the cup up inside of his hood and drank with a louder slurp. _"Simple pleasures can sometimes be the best." _He leaned back into his chair slowly, resting his left arm along the armrest. _"You had me worried there for a while."_

"Worried?" Rachel inquired, reaching for one of the cakes from her thermos and nibbling lightly at the edge. "Why would you be worried?"

_"I've seen you heal a lot. It makes you tired."_

"As you probably get tired when you throw one too many spells yourself." She countered.

_"Were you able to save anyone today?"_ Marik pressed.

Rachel glanced to the fireplace, nodding at the gentle flames. "A few I kept alive, but I couldn't remove their illness." Her blue eyes lost some of their luster at that. "Tomorrow will be much the same way."

_"All that water you've made, though…Perhaps the purer water will help to purge their bodies of the disease, rather than add to it." _Marik suggested hopefully.

"Maybe." Rachel answered. "But that's a big maybe." An ember popped in the flames. "It's just not enough, though. I can feel them all…slipping away from me."

Marik finished off the rest of his tea with a loud slurp, then set the cup aside, gauging her for a long moment. _"You're doing all that you can. You shouldn't be sad, Rachel."_

"But I'm losing them." She answered. "They're dying."

_"No, they're not." _Marik argued, a little more forcefully than he had thought he would have at first. _"They're enduring, and only because of you. How many more would have died today without your assistance?" _

"I know that." Rachel frowned. "I know, but…All the same, Marik. I took a healer's oath; tend to the sick, the injured. Ease their suffering. Preserve life. In the face of this, I feel like I'm failing it."

His green hand came over and floated in front of her face, drawing her eyes up.

_"You're not alone in this, you know." _Marik reminded her. _"Even as we speak, Ness and Morris and Orville are looking for the source of this all, to put an end to it. Nobody can ask you to do the impossible, Rachel. You can only manage so much on your own, and you've done that, even at the cost of your own health. It won't do you any good to become lost in yourself. So stop worrying. And stop doubting. Tomorrow will bring what it will. The only thing you can do is stay true to your core, and never lose sight of it."_

The Sorceror nodded his head. _"And don't frown, or get sad. It doesn't suit you." _

Rachel lifted an eyebrow. "Doesn't suit me?"

_"You were meant to be happy." _Marik pointed out. _"Isn't that why you're out here, following your heart? To be happy?" _

She smiled at that, taking another long sip of her tea. As the warm liquid went down her throat, she closed her eyes and nodded.

"I suppose so. I think it was also to find myself." She glanced over to Marik, curious. "So what about you? What are you doing out here on this road, traveling with Ness and me?"

Marik paused for a moment, and Rachel gave him a disarming smile. "Come on. I've shared my doubts. Can't you share your dreams?"

Slowly, Marik Observant gave a nod of his head. _"I suppose. Morris and I are out searching for something as well. It was something that…Something that somebody always wanted me to have." _He said, stopping himself short of a hidden fact and moving to a less conspicuous statement. _"A life worth living." _

The girl blinked. "A life worth living? I think Morris might have mentioned that to me once."

_"Then Morris talks too much." _Marik grumbled, prompting a small laugh from Rachel. _"You must think it's stupid, to…"_

"I never said that." She interrupted him, surprised at his sudden loss of candor. "No, I don't think that's stupid. Not at all." She picked up another one of her cookies. "A life worth living…I think maybe that's something we're all looking for." She nodded appreciatively. "But who gave you the idea in the first place?"

Marik shifted in his seat, a little hesitant to say. The healer blinked at him. "Is it that painful?"

_"Painful, no. But…" _Marik hesitated. He sighed. _"You must have an effect on people. I've built my life around a belief that people can't be trusted, but you…You're just different somehow. Maybe it's because you're not from Terrus. Are all people from your world like you?"_

Rachel shook her head. "No. Everyone's different, Marik, the same as they are here. I'm just myself, as you are you."

_"You'll have to tell me about this…Realm, wasn't it?"_

Rachel smiled as she swallowed the last bite of the second small cookie. "I'll make you a deal. You tell me who came up with the life worth living, and I'll tell you about where I came from."

Marik nodded slowly. _"Fair enough, but you might not expect the answer." _His Sorceror's hand disappeared as the mage brought up old memories. _"My mother…Died shortly after I was born. The last thing she did before she passed away was to take me to one of the larger temples of Weyveliste in Ashra. I never knew her, but, the priests who raised me told me every day that she had wanted me to have a life worth living."_ He nodded to that. _"I'm just trying to fulfill her wish."_

Rachel smiled at him for a long moment, wondering just how curious the rasping fellow beneath his hood and robes truly was. She stared for so long Marik grew unsettled, and cocked his head to the side. _"What? Is something wrong with me?"_

"Nothing." She said quietly. "But you were right. I didn't expect that answer." She blinked at the Sorceror. "Thank you."

_"For what?"_

"For trusting me enough to walk out of that shell of yours." She replied. "The world's a sad place without friends you can talk to."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Marik felt that resound with his ultimate goal, the life worth living. There was a great deal of truth to what she said, he thought.

He'd never been as happy in the temple as he was here, now, in the company of somebody who he was slowly beginning to trust.

_"So I think you owe me your part of the bargain now, Rachel."_ Marik said, a warmth in his voice that hadn't been there before. The young woman smiled at that, pouring herself some more tea.

"All right. What do you want to know about The Realm?"

_"Tell me…about where you came from."_ Marik suggested, sticking with what he hoped was an easy topic. Rachel took a long drink of her second cup of tea and nodded thoughtfully.

"The Realm is a land of wonder and magic, a beacon for the world it sits just out of step with." She began. "It was created by The Founders, Shermah, Micah, and Darmoon. I lived in the far east along the shores, in a grand city and harbor called Knighthold…"

Over the course of the next half hour, Marik found himself deluged in Knighthold's splendors, engrossed in the stories that Rachel Ashbury spun. Through her tales of the inn that had been her home for the first half of her life, and the temple of Calyssa that had been home for the second, Marik saw a little deeper into what had forged the healer into the young woman that walked with them today.

She talked until she began to yawn, the day's exhaustion at last catching up with her. She put the thermos away and excused herself for the night, walking towards her room and closing the door behind her with an audible click.

Marik remained behind, staring into the fire for a while after that, thinking on their conversation.

_My world…it's dangerous, Marik. So is yours. Mine has good people, and I know that because of you and Ness and Morris and Orville, there are good people here as well. The only difference? I don't know anything about yours. Terrus is a mystery._

Her words sang at his ears for a long time after that, because there was still much about Terrus still steeped in mystery.

Even in the midst of the New Era, parts of Terrus were mired in rumor, left alone and ignored. Large sections of Maundelay. Nearly all of Feleen. And all of Northern Sylvriss. As for the Dragon's Claw…well, only the most darkened, hard-hearted traders ever went there, and the truth was always kept hidden.

Terrus was a mystery, both for Rachel and even for the road-minded Marik. And somewhere out there lay the answers to the great quest his mother had posed to him; the search for the life worth living.

The Sorceror, his quiet black eyes staring into the crackling fire, wondered how long he would travel before he found them.

* * *

><p>Ness, Orville, and Morris had retreated out of Sarine's Woods for the night, setting up their tents to rest for the morning's exploration. While their initial jaunt had gone unnoticed, their departure from the woods caught the eyes of one insightful creature who had strayed out beyond the heart of the mystical forest. Even while they slept, beyond the reach and sight of anything within the woods, it had fluttered back to its master, urgently wishing to report the news.<p>

The fire bat, a winged creature born and composed of living flame, let out a hissing shriek as it came down. Its master glanced up with indifferent green eyes, holding out a thick gloved arm for it to land on. The fire bat's touch was enough to ignite most fabrics on contact, but the leather gauntlet shimmered in the moonlight for a moment, and it landed without the tiniest curl of smoke.

"And what has you so worked up, I wonder?" Its master mused in a feminine voice, petting its fiery head with its other hand, wearing a similar leather gauntlet. The tiny beast hissed and flapped its wings angrily, prompting a frown from its master. "Intruders?"

The fire bat chirped again, indicating a positive. "Are they still in the woods?" Speaking in the language of the denizens of the Eternal Furnace, where it came from, the fire bat spoke a brief negative.

"They may yet return." The fire bat's tamer mused, whistling.

About her, four other fire bats flew into view, igniting more of the once pristine clearing into brilliant flames as they landed on branches and strayed too close to the leaves. "We will have to be ready for them. They have likely come to put an end to me…to all of you."

The fire bat tamer smiled at that. "I wonder if the Druids of Ashra sent them. No matter. We will not give them the chance to cause us trouble. When they come tomorrow, and they will…we will be waiting, ready to strike. And all of you shall help me to eliminate them as we finish burning this forest."

The fire bat sitting on the magically protected leather gauntlet let out a happy chirp. There was the promise of firestarting in that, and like all of its kind, it reveled in making warm flames to hide in and grow stronger from.

Its master let out a brief cackle, looking forward to tomorrow.

The destruction of Sarine's Woods and the death of its druid was pleasure enough, but the chance to burn away foolish, 'goodly' adventurers made the act of vengeance all the sweeter.

All of Ashra would burn, the dark woman decided. One forest at a time. These adventurers might try to stop her, but she had the solution for that. A fire could always be made to burn hotter.


	8. Seven: Wings of Flame

**Seven: Wings of Flame**

Morning came to Kalen, and the cart which rolled about looking for the bodies of the dead found its load lighter. That brought cause for wonder, and as Kalen was a small village, the news spread about quickly. There was a reason for the slowing death toll and the resurgence in hope; it was not some sudden power of Father Perdast's, but the strength of another that was the cause.

When Marik woke up and washed himself with some of the clean water from his haversack, he thought it a simple enough day. Through his telepathic link, he could tell that Morris was still alive and well with the others. Rachel, if she wasn't awake already, soon would be, and would return to the temple to continue her work. Seeing as there was little in this quiet town that he could do, Marik imagined his day would be quite boring.

That distinction was soon broken when, dressed in his usual regalia, he stepped out into the main room of the inn and found a host of faces looking to him in surprise and wonder.

Not wanting to betray his identity by voice or expression, Marik turned his hood towards the manager of the small inn, hoping the man would catch the note of curiosity there.

"And who's this now?" One of the women in the small crowd of visitors exclaimed.

"One of the guests traveling with Rachel Ashbury." The innkeeper explained, glancing over to Marik.

One of the men, a taller pale fellow with a shaggy beard, stepped forward. "My name's Reiley Gheld, mayor of Kalen. Let me just say on behalf of the village, thank you to you and your associate. Her efforts have brought hope in our dark time!"

Marik blinked in surprise, feeling very nervous and out of place with Morris not around to interpret and converse. He took a few steps backwards, motioning with his long, drooping sleeves towards the rooms.

"What's the matter, man?" Reiley chuckled, offering a smile. "Go ahead and speak up, we won't bite."

Marik shook his head vehemently, unprepared for such an encounter this early in the day.

Sighing softly, Marik wished for a moment that it had been goblins who had harassed him this early in the day. At least he could deal with that menace. This, however…

Letting out a brief sigh of frustration, Marik turned about and strolled back into the corridor of the inn's rooms, knowing full well how rude the gesture must have seemed. He would prefer that label over the other they might use under different circumstances.

He approached Rachel's door and gave a solid knock, loud and demanding. It was about half a minute before slow, shuffling footsteps within the room became audible, and another half a minute more before the young woman inside finally came to the door.

Rachel opened it slowly, sleep still in her eyes and her hair tousled. It was obvious, though, that she was well rested.

Rachel yawned, letting her eyes focus on the caller who had woken her up from a dead sleep. "Marik? What are you doing up this early?"

_"Being rattled by questions." _He responded with a low grumble. He paused after that, his voice catching in his throat as his attention waned.

Rachel had come to the door dressed in the same clothes she had slept in; a periwinkle blue nightgown and a pair of ankle length white socks. A red overrobe had been hastily put on, covering the soft garment mostly from view. Still, Marik's impression of Rachel had been one forged of the girl who walked about in a traveling skirt, shirts, and leather boots and gloves. The young woman who stood before him, sleepy blue eyes curious and searching, was softer and more alluring, and very hard to ignore.

Eventually, she let out a loud cough and looked up to him, lifting an eyebrow. "Is there something I can do for you, or are you going to stand there and stare at me all day?"

Marik shook his head. _"My apologies. I didn't expect to catch you in such a state of undress, is all."_ He motioned behind him with a sleeve. _"You have some visitors out in the lounge."_

Rachel frowned at that, tying the cloth belt about her red robe. "Visitors? Why would I have…"

_"This isn't your wondrous Knighthold, Rachel. It's a small town, and news spreads fast. And you, I'm afraid, are news." _Marik exhaled, finding it easier to talk once he stared away from the girl. It was far better not to look than to let her catch him staring again. _"The mayor and a few others want to congratulate you."_

"Did you tell them I was busy sleeping?" Rachel complained, yawning again. She leaned up against the doorway and folded her arms.

_"I didn't tell them anything." _Marik said dourly, shaking his hood. _"I don't talk, remember?"_

To this, Rachel smiled. Even in his moody statement, she found something that brightened her mood a little more.

"Except to me." She said.

Marik scrunched his face up at the remark, knowing she couldn't see it behind the veil of ensorcelled darkness in his hood. He did not offer a retort to that, as much as he would have liked to give one. Instead, he finished with a shrug. _"I really wish Morris was here."_ The Sorceror finally admitted. _"I feel a little lost without him. And I can't help but worry."_

"He'll be fine." Rachel assured him, clearing her head a bit more with a shake. "After all, he's with Ness and Orville."

Marik let out another sigh. _"Well, the townspeople are still out there waiting for you. I imagine I didn't make them feel any better."_

"I'll be out in a few minutes." Rachel reassured her friend. "Tell them I'll be happy to…" She paused and shook her head. "Right. You don't talk. Just avoid them then." She gave him a quick grin and disappeared behind the door, shutting it with a click before bustling to work.

Marik let out a frustrated growl as he turned away from the door. How was he supposed to avoid them? Avoid anyone, for that matter? He couldn't spend the rest of the day in his room, and it wasn't like he could just disappear…

The Sorceror froze, then chastised himself a moment later. Of course he could disappear. In all his nervousness, he had completely forgotten his newest breakthrough.

A minute later, Marik exited back out to the inn's main lounge and carefully stepped around the waiting members of the public, including the mayor. He reached for the door, opened it, and left without so much as a word.

Terrified, the innkeeper and the waiting guests wondered as Marik departed just how a door could open and close of its own volition. They couldn't see the invisible Sorceror walking around them, and as dextrous and quiet as Marik was, they didn't hear him either.

That was, not until he let out a chuckle that chilled their bones when the door closed. Everyone was a little more relieved when Rachel at last appeared. The Calyssan was left wondering, even while she fielded their gratitude and questions, just where Marik had run off to.

Chances are he wasn't far, though. She had become accustomed to knowing that the towering mage was always, even hidden and secluded, closer than most would think. She offered a small smile to herself, knowing she'd see him again before the day was out.

She hoped she would soon see the faces of her other friends as well.

* * *

><p>Ness, Orville, and Morris shared a small breakfast before heading back into Sarine's Woods, though it was a meal that Morris found much to complain about, being simple trail rations with crackers. And Morris hated crackers. The imp was glad to have the meal done with, and as they strolled towards the forest for the second time, very vocal about his desire to return to Kalen.<p>

"At least there we could get a decent meal!"

"And one that would likely kill us." Came Ness' grumbling reply. Orville let out a chuckle at that, ahead of the two. Ignoring the remark, Ness pointed his head towards the invisible devil resting on his shoulder. "So can you and Marik talk to each other this far out?"

"Talk? No, to do that we'd have to be closer." The invisible Morris explained calmly. "But he and I can still pick up the other's feelings over the link, as long as he doesn't close it."

"And just how are Marik and Rachel faring back at Kalen, praytell?" Came Orville's question as he stepped through the first layer of trees to the interior.

"Marik seems pretty relaxed about Rachel. I'd imagine she's doing everything in her power, and managing well. Marik's a little frustrated at the moment, but I can't blame him."

"I imagine it's difficult for him to do anything useful around there without you to act as his voice." Ness surmised, used to their eccentricities.

Orville paused a little farther in, raising a hand. Ness and Morris fell silent, and the Bard turned with a concentrated look on his face. "It occurred to me that there will likely be some danger to all of this. Hold on one moment."

He dug a hand into his pocket, shuffling about and smiling as he pulled out a small set of ivory dice.

Ness rolled his eyes. "Orville, this is a horrible time for games of chance."

"Chance?" Orville Gracefoot chuckled, rubbing the dice in his hands. "Oh, Ness. I try not to leave things to chance…I make my own luck." He threw the dice up into the air and hummed a small melody, and they began to fade into dust on the way down, disappearing entirely before they hit the ground.

Ness lifted an eyebrow, not sure just what had taken place. Morris, moving slightly on his shoulder, gave what felt like a shrug. "He's a bard." The invisible imp said simply.

"Of course." Ness exhaled, following after the more lively fellow scouting on ahead. "That just conveniently explains everything that's wrong with him, doesn't it?"

Orville led them in without incident for the first five minutes, and they reached the clearing with the burned druid's body they had encountered the day before. By then, a distinct scent had fallen into the air, and one that was unmistakable.

"That's smoke." Ness stated, unveiling the obvious. The scent of burning wood and leaves made the Orville's nose wrinkle, and the minstrel glanced about.

"Smoke, yes. But where is it coming from?" The clearing was untouched since yesterday, the druid's charred corpse still lying where they had found it. The smell was growing stronger by the moment, coming closer to them.

Surprisingly enough, it was Ness who caught the first glimpse of danger, a flash of burning red and orange that darted behind the trees. "What the…" He managed, drawing out his longsword and tensing up.

Orville drew out his rapier, alerted by Ness' reaction. "What did you see?"

A sudden screech drew their attention, and the two travelers whirled their heads about. Bearing down towards them was a fluttering menace, no larger than three feet across at the wings, and made entirely of fire.

A horrorstruck Morris recognized it for what it was. "Crackers!" The imp screamed. "It's a fire bat!" Morris flew from Ness' shoulder, quick to realize he would do more good separated from the swordsman.

The fire bat swooped down towards Orville, screaming at him. A halfhearted swing from the eccentric minstrel's rapier sent it flying away, doing little damage but blunting the attack. "Blast, it almost had me!" Orville laughed nervously. "But I think we can handle it!"

Ness saw something that made his blood run cold. "I wish I had your sense of optimism, Orville." He uttered, making the minstrel do a double take and follow the escaping fire bat up into the trees above.

Orville Gracefoot, for all his blustering, wasn't easily surprised. When the color drained out of his face, Morris knew they were in trouble.

"Oh, damn it all." The bard cursed, shaking his head.

The fire bat landed up in the burning branches above their heads, next to five others of its kin. They all shrieked at once, curdling Ness' blood.

Ness gripped his longsword tighter, glad that Rachel had left him with the two healing potions they had not used in their trip through Fenderson's Pass. It was becoming clear that they would be needed, and sooner than he had thought.

The fire bats leapt from the burning branches above, charging towards the unlucky swordsman and minstrel. They howled the entire way down.

* * *

><p>Under the protection of his invisibility, Marik had been free to leap about and travel through the sleepy, dying town of Kalen without restraint. It felt good to stretch his legs, to dash through the streets and practice his techniques in the comfort of the magical cloak his spell had given him. Occasionally, when he would swing his springloaded blade a little too wildly, the spell would give a warning hum. Marik kept control of the invisibility spell, knowing that it would hold, for all its complaining.<p>

He had concluded his quick sparring with a set of well-timed jumps to the rooftop of the tavern, much like he used to do back in the Roadside Temple, landing easily on the planks used in place of thatching. He went down into a low crouch for a moment to absorb the force of the drop, and heard the weight-shifting thump as clearly as anyone inside of the structure would. Not like it mattered; Nobody could see him, and his spell had at least another few minutes of life left to it. He'd refresh it soon enough, when he felt it coming to an end. That was the difference between his approach to magic and a wizard's, one of his instructors at the temple had said. A wizard saw magic through rote memory and formula. Marik's grasp of the arcane arts was not as broad, true, but it was intuitive, which was a more precious edge. He had often wondered if wizards ever felt as connected to the spells they cast as he always did.

Something interrupted his thoughts, surprising him so much that he lost his concentration. His invisibility spell had gone beyond the bulk of its effect, kept up only by the strength of his will. Distracted by the sudden intrusion, it dropped.

It was Morris, the Sorceror realized with surprise. More than the imp's presence though, was the strength of the message. They had never been so far apart, but Marik could hear the mental shout as clearly as if he had been standing twenty feet away from his friend. It carried no words, of course, but the emotions were enough.

Surprise. Dismay. Worry. Even fear.

They were being attacked, Marik realized suddenly. Attacked by what, he did not know, but it was something strong enough that it had sent the imp back on his heels squealing.

_**Blast it…Morris, you have to calm down!**_ Marik tried to send out to his friend. _**Tell me what's going on!**_

Of course his words wouldn't reach that far. Morris continued to panic, blind to Marik's empathic message as he struggled against forces the Sorceror couldn't identify, and worse, could not aid his friend with.

He could lose Morris. And if Morris were to fall, then it meant that surely Ness and Orville would as well.

Rachel…he had to tell her, Marik thought in his panic. He jumped from the rooftop of the tavern and began to sprint down the street as soon as his feet hit land. The townsfolk of Kalen looked at him either in curiosity or in fright, clearing free of the looming figure's breakneck path. It was just as well, too. Marik was too frazzled to pay much attention to what was happening around him, and he might well have crashed into someone.

A few narrow misses brought him back to his senses, and he slowed down, catching his breath. Rationality finally took hold. As much as it pained him to acknowledge it, there was nothing Marik could do to help Morris and the others. They were too far away for him to reach, and by the time he might have gotten there…

_It would be too late. Morris, forgive me. I should have gone with you. All I can do now is hope. Come back alive, friend. I need you more than you know._

And why would he bother to tell Rachel anything, he asked himself? She would be tired enough at her self-given task; she didn't need to worry about Ness, Orville and Morris any more than she already was. It was not his place to add that second burden on her shoulders.

Still, he couldn't wander around the town all day. In that moment, he needed desperately to be around a friend. Korleen was far distant, the Roadside Temple a memory. Morris was out risking his neck.

He would seek out Rachel, the Sorceror finally decided with a saddened heart. He could not tell her of what he knew, but she was the closest thing to a reassurance he would find. He let out a small growl, drawing his hands to his sides and twirling his clutched fingers in circles on the insides of his sleeves. He mustered another spell of invisibility from the reservoir of strength at the core of his spirit. Even as the surrounding townspeople gasped and began to mark themselves with Solares' sign to ward off evil spirits, Marik was twenty feet away, moving at a brisk walk unseen and unmolested.

Magic had been an innate talent in him. It gave him a power he had come to rely on, trust in, place his hopes in.

Now with his allies miles away, Marik began to realize how empty that faith was, and how powerless he was to change anything. Morris and the others would live or die by their own virtues. All Marik could do was wait and hope.

* * *

><p>Ness and Orville managed to throw themselves on the ground and avoid the charging dive at the last possible moment. The fire bats, flying in formation, veered about for another strike, chirping angrily.<p>

Ness gripped his longsword tighter, keenly aware of the heat the bats put off. He was even more aware of his favorite green cloak, a perfect target for their unearthly forms. "By Margrave's bounty, what manner of creatures are they?"

"Fire bats!" Orville called back. "Just like Morris said!"

One of the bats swooped down again, hissing with embers popping off of its body. Ness gritted his teeth, readying a swing. "Great. Can we kill them?"

Orville angled his rapier. "I think so, Ness."

Letting out a roar, Ness Benson swung his longsword up towards the charging beast in one ferocious, yet desperate strike. The blade clipped through its form and severed one wing off. Deprived of its mobility, the fire bat fell to the ground, screeching in pain and frustration. Ness slammed his blade down through the thing's chest, and it vanished in a puff of smoke.

"So we can kill them." Ness concluded, glancing up to the others. "That's good to know." The other five, angered at the loss of their comrade, came in another dive.

"We can kill one, maybe." Orville countered, darting out of the charge of one of the others, struggling to keep himself from being hit. "But five?!"

Two more barreled towards Ness, and he slashed up at them, hoping for a hit. They weaved about his blade, making it past his defenses and setting his cloak on fire. "Damn these things, they mean to burn us alive!" Ness roared, unclasping his cloak and sending it to the ground to burn with the bats inside. One of the two freed itself of the entangling fabric and came up, hoping to scar at his face.

At long last, a familiar and more welcome set of wings fluttered by, and a reappearing Morris slammed hard into the fiery bat with a loud grunt. "You're not getting to Ness that easy!" The imp goaded the fire bat as they clung to each other, furiously scratching at each other between the occasional stab of Morris' tail.

Ness took the opportunity to finish the entangled bat inside of his cloak, then looked to the scrambling imp. "Morris, get away from him! He'll burn you alive!"

But Morris' flesh did not char and bubble, even as his clothes began to burn away from the intense heat of his foe. Lost to his instincts, the imp reached his tail about to stab into the side of the fire bat's wing while clawing at its face. It screeched in fury, injured but not paralyzed.

"Quick thing to learn, Ness!" Morris Redtail bellowed, realizing his paralyzing sting would be ineffective against the elemental beast. "My kind's born in Hellfire, and it'd take more flames than this maggot's putting off to injure me!" He followed up the comment with another slash of his tiny claws, and the fire bat screamed, realizing its situation.

Orville, a ways off, laughed at the comment as he pierced his rapier through one of the two bats left, leaving a glancing blow that sent it skittering off. Ness charged up beside him and cleaved the other in half, leaving only Morris' fire bat in their immediate vicinity.

For his part, Morris was putting up a valiant defense, given that he and the fire bat were tumbling about on the ground, beating furiously at each other. The fire bat screeched and finally managed to sink its teeth into Morris' shoulder, earning a yelp of pain from the imp. "Crackers!" Morris swore, kicking the thing away from him and taking a few limping steps backwards, clutching at his shoulder. "Damn, that hurts!"

Orville took the opportunity to finish off Morris' fire bat with a quick thrust of his rapier, ending the fight. Ness walked over to Morris and knelt down, offering his hand. "Are you going to be all right, Morris?"

"Aah, it's not much more than a scratch." Morris grumbled, climbing onto Ness' hand and taking up position on the man's shoulder. "It'll hurt for a while, but scrapes and cuts heal quick. It's more my pride than anything." He stared forlornly down at the few tatters of clothing left on him, shaking his head. "That was my favorite vest. At least Marik has a few more in his backpack."

"I thought most imps went naked." Orville posed, smiling at the small joke.

"Most imps don't have much of a sense of modesty, either." Morris retaliated. "How about you two? Any injuries?"

"My cloak's a little burned, but otherwise, I'm fine." Ness said after a pause. He reached down to the green fabric, stomped out the few remaining flames, and tied it back on. Orville shrugged his shoulders, undamaged.

"My luck sustains me even now. Still, I must say that I'm a little surprised. If fire bats are here, then there are likely worse things yet ahead."

Ness glanced to the bard, frowning. "I don't understand something. Something in these woods is poisoning the river, and all of Kalen in the process. But what would burning the forest have to do with that?"

Morris thought for a moment, avoiding the usual comments. Now in a calmer state, he could feel Marik's worried emotions trying to reach out to him.

_Rest easy, boss. We're all right. For now, anyways._

Orville leaned back, sifting through hundreds of stories, rumors, and myths he had absorbed over his years on the road. "Well, fire bats aren't native to Terrus; The only time I've heard them mentioned is in summonings. They're a relatively easy beast to muster in certain rituals performed by the servants of darkness." He glanced about the woods, twirling his rapier around. "One got away…That direction." He pointed with his blade. "Chances are if we follow it, we'll find the person or people responsible for their existence."

"And for the dead druid we found earlier." Morris piped in.

"Not to mention the source of the river's poison." Ness finished firmly. "Very well, Orville. You've gotten us this far; lead on."

The bard tipped his still pristine feathered hat and gave a smile, dashing on ahead with a skip in his step. Morris went invisible and picked himself up and off of Ness' shoulder, his injuries healed up enough to make him effective again. Ness followed behind, more determined than ever to put an end to this and strike the finishing blow.

He wasn't about to let that smug minstrel win their bet, after all.

* * *

><p>It was after her ninth healing spell of the day that Rachel began to feel a bit woozy, swaying back and forth. She would have slumped against the bed of her last patient too, had one of the nurses assisting not dove in and caught her at the last moment.<p>

"Ach, you're wearing yourself thin, dearie." The older woman chastised her, letting Rachel lean against her. "Ye can't be making yourself so tired that you fall ill on us too!"

Father Perdast came over, similarly exhausted but more used to the drain. "She's right, Miss Ashbury. You should rest for a while. Recover your senses."

"But, the patients…"

The man she had just finished her last spell over smiled weakly up at her. "You've kept me alive for two days now, angel. I can last a few more hours. This illness takes more time than that to kill us."

Weakly, Rachel nodded and let herself be led out of the narthex, and into one of the side rooms in the small temple. It was a small bedroom with a window staring out to the street, plain and nondescript, but good enough for her to catch her breath and rest her exhausted body.

"You just rest in here now, girl." The nurse said pleasantly. "And don't even think of coming back out until you're feeling better, you hear?"

"I'll be fine." Rachel assured the woman with a soft smile, sinking onto the bed with a long sigh. "Just…give me a few minutes."

"Take as long as you need." The older woman replied, walking out of the room and gently closing the door behind her. Rachel let her eyes close and sunk into the soft bed a little farther, taking in a deep breath. She rolled over onto her side, curling up a bit and glancing about the room one last time.

The room was bare and quiet. A chair was placed over by the open window, angled just right for somebody to sit there and look out. A dresser, nondescript, sat unused save for a thick black piece of clothing draped over its surface. Blinking a few times, she frowned, thinking in her exhausted mind that it somehow seemed familiar.

No, more than familiar. Known. Sitting up a bit, she moved to the side of the bed, frowning at it.

It was Marik's hooded robe and cloak, unmistakably his. Yet when she looked around, she couldn't see him.

Blinking her puzzled blue eyes, the girl put a hand to her chest. "…Marik? Are you in here?"

There was silence for a few moments, then a humorous chuckle, and the chair by the window seemed to rock back a bit.

_"I was wondering how long it would take you to notice that."_

The healer blinked at the chair. "Are you by the window?"

_"Of course."_

"But I can't…" She paused, then shook her head. "You're using your magic to be invisible, aren't you?"

_"Now that I can…?" _The Sorceror mused. The chair lowered back to the ground, and his sighing voice, floating out of thin air, continued. _"It feels good to get out of that stuffy cloak every once in a while." _

The young woman stared back to the garment. "For as much as you wear it, I could see why." Curiosity met her surprise. "Just what are you doing in here?"

_"I've been sitting in here for fifteen minutes now." _Marik replied. _"You're the intruder."_

"But why would you come here in such secrecy?"

_"I didn't think that I would be all that welcomed by your friend, Father Perdast."_ Marik replied. _"After all, he didn't give Morris the benefit of the doubt…Doubtful he'd put much faith in the Sorceror bonded to such a 'vile creature'." _There was an element of distaste in his voice, easily readable.

Rachel folded her arms, staring over to his chair again. "So why would you come here then, if you felt you would not be welcomed?"

To this, the Sorceror had no immediate answer, and Rachel sighed, falling back on the bed. "I hope that Ness and the others can put an end to the river's poison very soon." She uttered. "I'm wearing myself out."

_"You shouldn't." _Marik chastised her. _"We all need to rest, on occasion. You're no different."_

"Somehow, I had a feeling you'd come by and visit me." The Calyssan explained, rolling onto her side again towards the window. "How are Morris and the others doing, anyhow?"

The Sorceror's chair dropped, and there came the sound of his soft footsteps towards his clothes. It was a little odd to see the robe and cloak slip over an invisible frame, meshing over him and blocking his true self from view. _"Well enough." _Marik said shrewdly. _"They can handle themselves, after all."_

"And you?" Rachel posed, blinking at her friend again. "How are you doing?"

The Sorceror walked over and looked out the window, his arms folding behind his back. _"As well as can be expected."_

"Did you come here looking for some peace and quiet?"

_"I came here for yo…"_ Marik began, stopping short as he realized his fumble. But Rachel was able to finish his sentence.

"You came here for me? Why?"

The Sorceror sighed. _"I don't know. Maybe I was worried about you. Maybe I got lonely. Maybe I just felt like it. Do I need a reason?"_

Rachel smiled, feeling sleepy again. "No." She answered softly, closing her eyes and sinking onto the bed. "But I'm glad you came anyhow. I was feeling lonely, too."

She yawned, and Marik turned about to look at her. _"I should leave and let you get some rest." _He uttered, finding that to be the most sensible course of action.

He was already halfway out of the window when Rachel spoke up again.

"No…Please, don't go yet." She asked him.

Marik froze, turning about and looking towards her out of the faceless hood. Her soft blue eyes, worried and tired, stared back at him.

"Stay for a while. At least…at least until I get to sleep. You can leave then if you like, but…" She fumbled over the words, wondering how best to phrase it without sounding awkward. "I want to be around a friend for a few minutes. Please?"

Marik kept in his sigh, if he had meant to offer one in surrender. He merely nodded his head and sat back down in his chair, looking towards the girl. _"I'll stay. For a while." _He responded, guarding his words with a careful warning.

In spite of that, Rachel let out a smile and closed her eyes. Minutes later, her breathing grew quieter, and she seemed totally relaxed. Marik walked over to her, waving a sleeve in front of her to confirm she was indeed asleep.

She was, of course. Rachel hadn't been lying about the fatigue of her healing efforts.

Shaking his head, Marik reached underneath the bed and brought out a carefully folded blanket left there. He unfurled it and lay it over the sleeping girl, then went back to the window.

He had promised to stay for a while, a gesture Rachel had interpreted as until she fell asleep. Marik fell back into his chair, closing the window's shutters before pushing back his hood with his true hands.

In the quiet of the small guest bedroom, Rachel slept…and Marik, keeping to the promise better than she would have hoped, watched over her.

The invisibility spell ran out, revealing his misshapen head and dull black eyes. Lost to dreams, Rachel would never know that Marik was still watching over her.

* * *

><p>They moved quickly through the woods, exhilarated by the downfall of the fire bats, and thinking to themselves that even if there were more, they would fall easily enough through their combined efforts. Morris had proven to be a very adaptable companion, and though his clothes were burned off, he had walked out of their fight with his minor wounds mending themselves. There was a determined glare in Orville's eyes the imp could make out on one of his passes over the eccentric minstrel; it seemed to make the man move all the faster, moving at a pace that the more encumbered Ness found difficult to match. Only adrenaline allowed him to keep up with the bard.<p>

"How much…farther do you…think we'll have to go?!" Ness called out after Orville, breaking to breathe from their running.

"I really don't know!" Orville countered, not stopping. "Minutes, maybe an hour!"

A fire bat screeched and rolled past them, and Orville barely managed to dive to the side. His feathered hat took the blow instead, and was singed from the strike. "But I imagine we're getting close to the cause of all this!"

A second one barreled by Ness, who cringed away from it and kept running. "What makes you say that?"

The bard nearly cackled when he laughed. "They're getting angrier!" Morris fluttered by the side of his head. Orville nearly swung at him before he caught himself. "Blast it, Morris, you have to be more careful than that! I could have hit you!"

"Somehow, I doubt that." Came the dry reply of the estranged familiar. "I think I saw a clearing up ahead, a big one." The imp produced a small noise akin to a grunt. "With a pond and a fountain. I think it's the cause of all this."

"Then onwards we'll go!" Orville laughed gaily, sprinting all the faster. He broke out into a full out run, drawing his rapier and roaring a warcry as he charged on ahead.

Wheezing for breath, and falling father and farther behind the precocious minstrel, Ness wanted to yell out for him to slow down and be sensible, but he didn't even have the voice to do that.

It was because of that that Ness was still eighty feet out and away from Morris' mentioned clearing when Orville Gracefoot, hat and all, plowed into it without a second thought.

He was sixty feet out when a cluster of fire bats, unseen and kept in reserve, swooped around the clearing and ignited a ring of flames, trapping Orville inside, and Ness Benson out.

Ness slowed to a jog as he approached the burning barrier, the scent of kerosene filling the air from the hot and angry flames. "Orville, you idiot!" Ness shouted through the roaring flames. "You just couldn't wait, could you?!" Morris was nowhere to be seen or heard at that moment, either. The swelling heat buffeted Ness back a few feet from the roaring barrier of oil-soaked grass and wood, but he could barely make out the outline of Orville inside of the ring, as well as the swirling fire bats, cackling delightfully at their unnerved victim.

Ness' blood ran cold when he realized there was a second humanoid figure moving inside of the flames. And even though they obscured most of the details, the look of the woman in tattered, burned rags was all too malevolent.

"Out of the kettle, Orville…but into the campfire." Ness uttered, realizing the danger the flighty minstrel had thrust himself in.

As soon as the fire bats had swept down and ignited the ring about the clearing, Orville realized he had stumbled into a trap. Quite an effective one, he realized, when he heard some passing bombast from Ness moments later.

By the firelight and the midday sun, he could make out a feminine figure coming towards him in the circle of flames. The clearing was dried and brown, and the garb of the young woman standing a fair distance away from him was of a similar color. By her ears, Orville realized, she was partially elven. She had unkempt and wild blond hair with dried, burned twigs poking out of it at points, and her hide garments were in tatters. She wore thick leather gloves, nearly gauntlets by their size. Beyond the two sickles hanging at her waist, the most striking thing about her was her piercing green eyes, which stared to Orville with a sense of amusement, and utter superiority.

"I'd heard we had vermin in these decrepit woods." She began coldly, holding an arm out to the side. One of the fire bats flew down and landed on her leather gauntlet, somehow not singing the cowhide at all. "I didn't know they were so stupid."

Orville took a few wary steps back, his rapier in a defensive pose as he gauged the young woman. There was something oddly familiar about her appearance, and his eyes widened when he guessed at it.

"Are you a druid?" Orville gasped, for she had a great deal of the wild in her bright green eyes.

The young woman, uncaring about her appearance, only smiled at that with some unspoken mirth. "Are you?"

Orville arched an eyebrow. "No."

"Then I must not be one either." She spat back. "Why did you come here? Did the Druids of Ashra send you to deal with me?"

Orville glanced about him again, hoping to better understand his predicament. He had no difficulties playing along with the woman's curiosity, for the time being. Anything that gave Ness a few more precious seconds to hopefully get into this fight. The woman seemed to have a peculiar aura, Orville thought. There was more to her than at first glance, and given her 'friends', he didn't doubt for a moment she had some potent magical talents.

"No, we didn't come here to see to you." Orville remarked casually, counting the number of fire bats up in the branches above.

_One…two…three…_

"Then how did you end up here?" She posed coldly.

"There's a village by the name of Kalen about half a day's travel from here." Orville continued, his eyes still moving about in their own haphazard fashion. "The river has become a poisonous miasma, and it's killing the townsfolk. We followed the river to investigate, and…" He motioned towards the large pond in the clearing, and the bubbling underground fountain that fed it, "It took us here."

_Four…Five…Six…_

The woman let out a cruel chuckle. "Oh, that's rich." She growled. "I kill the druid patrolling these woods, set myself to burn this entire forest down, and it's my impurification of the woods' central _shrine_ that brings troublemakers? Incredible." The fire bat on her gauntlet took up into the air, flying about her head.

She drew her sickles, holding them at her sides as she continued to regard him. "So you're just one of those troublesome idealists, then. Tell me, my foolish fellow, do you have a name?"

"Orville Gracefoot, minstrel of Fanachlor." Came the wary reply. "And yours, witch?"

A fire ignited in her eyes when he spoke. "Fanachlor, you say? How ironic. These woods were once protected by her servants. It will be an honor to claim another of her worshippers."

"What is your name?" Orville repeated himself, slowly gaining a bit of confidence back as she continued to talk. "I can't go killing you without one." _Seven…eight…Eight of those things are here? Ness, you'd best hurry up!_

The half-elven woman's nose wrinkled when she smiled. "Ardainya was who I was once known as, but I gave that up when I renounced my faith in the goddess of the glade. Now I go by a simpler name; Flame."

The fire bats in the trees screeched angrily and leapt from their perch, readying themselves for a strike on the unlucky minstrel. "Farewell, Mr. Gracefoot." Flame announced coldly. "I'd say it's been fun, but…"

"Save your pleasantries, witch." Orville countered grimly, sweat dripping off his brow from the heat of the fires about him. "You've never bothered with them before."

Angrily, she lifted up her sickles, pointing one at him. "Then burn." Two of the fire bats flying about dove towards him, screeching angrily. Orville braced himself, for while he might be able to deflect one away with another lucky blow, he could not face two.

A luck of a different sort was with him, though. With a powerful roar, the larger figure of Ness Benson jumped through the flames. They licked hungrily at his clothes, but with his green cloak about his face, soaked with water from another stored canteen, he passed the barrier of flames safely. Orville swung at one with his rapier, knocking it away, and the second got no closer when the suddenly arrived Morris Redtail smashed hard into it and sent it tumbling away in surprise.

Ness threw down his smoking cloak and drew out his longsword, staring hard at the despoiler of the woods who called herself Flame. "Nobody's dying here today except you and yours, witch." The swordsman growled. Morris cackled at the joke before going invisible once again, the roar of the flames about them masking the flap of his leathery wings.

Orville cocked an eyebrow at the surprised and infuriated woman. "I brought friends, too." He said simply, finishing with a grin.

Flame roared, and the bats came at them en masse. Ness readied his blade and shook his head. "Here we go again!"

* * *

><p>Morris charged headlong into the swarm of bats, lashing out in all directions with ineffective, but distracting blows. The fiery beasts chirped viciously at the interruption, biting and clawing at him. The imp gnashed his teeth and kept on, hoping that his friends were having more luck.<p>

Ness had taken a stance against the renegade ex-druid, coming in fast to distract her and hopefully land a finishing blow. Her skill with her sickles was exceptional, and she batted his thrusts and slashes away with ease

"Is that the best you've got?" She snapped at him. One of the fire bats swung away from the main pack and dove at the back of Ness' neck, scorching the flesh and catching his hair on fire. Ness let out a growl of pain, swinging his head about furiously until he jarred the nuisance free. It left behind a burn mark and distracted the swordsman long enough for Flame to come in swinging, the curved blades scraping angrily against his gauntlets and armor, nicking him but failing to cut deep. Roaring again, Ness swung his longsword in a ferocious horizontal cut, forcing her to leap away. "You'll pay for that trickery!" He promised her. The woman laughed, unimpressed by the boast.

Orville struggled with the cloud of fire bats that had crowded themselves around a feebly struggling, and slowly losing Morris Redtail. His rapier thrust inwards at them, time after time and scoring hits, but none severe enough to disengage them. "It's no good!" He shouted, hoping that Morris could hear his voice. "There's too many of them!"

"No…kidding!" Morris panted, the bites and scratches from the nasty extraplanar vermin beginning to wear him down. "Can't you take them all down at once?!"

Orville Gracefoot fought the urge to roll his eyes and groan in dismay. While he knew a handful of spells, none were designed to injure a pack of fire bats…

He blinked once before letting out a smile and digging in his backpack. "Keep them busy, Morris!" He urged the failing imp.

"Like I…have a choice?" Came the weak reply. They continued to swarm about him, too infuriated with their winged aggressor to pay attention to the flighty minstrel. That was exactly what Orville Gracefoot was counting on.

Out of his rucksack, Orville produced a small chime, holding it in one hand with a grin upon his features. "Let's hope this works as well as I think it will…" He muttered, humming a small melody before focusing his mind onto the chime and ringing it once.

An invisible thrum filled the air, expanding outwards and amplifying the small tune Orville had hummed. It continued out, then suddenly went into discord, becoming a confusing set of notes that clashed horribly and made the air reverberate.

Everybody in the burning forest glade winced at the noise, confused and disoriented for a brief moment. Still hurting, a furious Morris poked his head from the writhing bodies of the fire bats and glared at Orville.

"Just what in blazes was that supposed to be?"

Orville smiled and tucked the bell away. "A discordant echo, as I call it." Much to Morris' surprise, the fire bats' disorientation proved to be far worse as the air continued to pulsate with the wailing notes, moving erratically and without accurate direction. The cluster around Morris dissipated as the fire bats flew in all directions, crashing into each other and into the ground and the trees while they screeched with a more ferocious, less concentrated set of wails.

Woozy, but beginning to heal up from the scratches again, Morris fluttered over to Orville, blinking. "Just what did you _do_ to them?"

"Bats use sound to see." Orville explained, motioning about them. "The spell I just cast interferes with the normal sonic vibrations of the air. It's confusing and annoying to us, but it blinds bats. I had hoped that these fire bats would share their cousin's weakness." A fire bat slammed hard into the ground, writhing about from the hard fall. Orville grinned and ran it through with his rapier, snuffing it out. "I suppose my wager paid off."

"You mean, you didn't even _know it would work!?_" Morris coughed out, disbelieving. Orville smiled and shrugged, walking over to another collapsed fire bat and ending its life on Ashra as well. The imp finally shook his head. "You really are a bard. You're crazy like one, anyhow!"

Orville slashed at another one, who somehow fluttered clear of the blow. "I'll take that as a compliment. Now help me finish these flying rats off before they regain their senses!" Morris stretched his complaining wings and nodded quickly, jumping into action beside the flighty minstrel. There were still fire bats to be eliminated.

Both Ness and Flame had winced from the noise of Orville's spell, but the effects made the ex-druid furious. "Just what did he do to my pets?!" The woman demanded, coming at Ness with a series of quick and brutal slashes. Despite his fatigue, Ness Benson gave her a cocky grin.

"It seems like he confused them. I don't imagine it will take him all that much longer to finish them off." Her anger distracted her methodical attacks, and the more composed Ness managed to send one of her sickles flying out of her hand with a quick parry before leaving a gash in her shoulder. She winced and stumbled backwards, and Ness came in closer, his sword raised above his head for the killing blow.

Flame took advantage of that last brief moment, her green eyes flaring as she stared at his chest. _"Burn."_ She uttered, pulling up every erg of hatred she could muster. Ness blinked, wondering what that meant exactly. The fire bats were all out of commission, either stumbling about or already killed by Orville and Morris.

It began as a tingling, then a second later transformed itself into a sudden burn that gripped at his chest. Ness let out a gasp, finding that the very air around him was becoming intolerably hot. That was the last thing he felt before he was engulfed in smoking, magical flames. He didn't even have a chance to scream as it burned over him. His sword fell to the ground, and he collapsed beside it, shuddering for a long moment before the flames died out, leaving his charred body to lie there.

Flame gave him a hard stare and spat on the ground beside him. "Nobody will stand between me and the end of these woods. Not you, and not that troublesome minstrel." To her eyes, Ness seemed on death's door, too weak to even groan as he lay there. She gave her head one last shake and turned away from the defeated swordsman, her eyes burning as she stared towards the laughing minstrel and the imp flying beside him. "Will they die as fast as you, I wonder?" She mused to Ness Benson's charred form. She didn't wait for the response, walking on ahead and picking up her missing sickle.

Behind her, a barely conscious Ness felt his scarred lungs draw in a cool breath of air. It did little to ease his agony.

She was going to kill Orville. Kill Morris.

_Not today…_He thought, gritting his teeth through the pain. He would not let her succeed. Even if he had no friendly ties to Orville, Morris was an ally, one of the better ones the swordsman ever had in his years.

_Rachel. _He found himself thinking of her, back in the temple of Solares, using her healing magics to try and stave off the disease of the river's poisoned waters. If he died here, he would never see her again.

If Morris and Orville died here…

He could see Marik's utter heartbreak, and Rachel's smile vanish for the rest of time. All because of his reputation, of his nickname. The Cursed Blade, the destroyer of allies.

It would not come to that. It could not. Forcing his screaming body to comply, he pushed his hand back to a pocket of his trousers, pulling out the two vials of green liquid that Rachel had left him with.

Her last two healing potions. The effort of taking them out nearly dropped him into darkness, but he held on, determination lasting where his body could not.

The vials shook as he lifted them up towards his mouth, reaching the corks to his teeth. It all hinged on this one thing…this one moment.

The last fire bat let out a defiant squeal as Morris struck it out of the air with a powerful swat of his wings and sent it to collapse on the ground, where Orville gave it a quick end a moment later. "That's the last of 'em!" Morris said with a cheerful cry. All cheer faded a moment later when a sickle flew through the air and gashed through his leathery wing. It kept going, dragging the now screaming imp along with it and pinning him to a tree, with blood oozing from the open wound.

Orville's eyes went wide as he whirled about, finding the woman known as Flame staring him down with a sickle in one hand and a cloud of fire in the other.

"I'm going to enjoy this." She said coldly, hurling the fire-filled hand towards him. Two blazing beams of fire shot from her fingers, and Orville tumbled to the side. One missed, but the other set his sword arm ablaze. Orville let out a cry, unable to hold on to his rapier. He picked himself up, cradling his injured arm and stared up at her

Screeching in pain, Morris kicked and struggled against the tree. He tried to force the sickle out, to free himself and to also hopefully allow his wing to start mending, but it was in too deep. Letting out a groan, he fell limp against the tree, suffering the slow throb rather than risk ripping his wing off completely. He only hoped Orville had more success than he had.

Flame came closer, firing off another salvo of fire beams. This time, they burned into Orville's legs, sending him to the ground from the pain. His feathered hat fell to the side, letting his sweat-soaked blond hair hang freely. She offered him a cruel smile as she held her hand out towards him one last time, standing over him triumphant. "It looks like your luck has run out." She said mockingly.

Dully, Orville looked up towards her, wondering how he would escape his demise. Then his eyes registered movement behind her, and he smiled, and began to sing. The old melody enervated him and gave him a sense of renewed hope, but whatever benefit it gave him, it did far more for somebody else.

Flame frowned at him. "You're singing? Do you think that pretty music will help you now?"

He stopped, the notes wafting on after the end of his small performance, still carrying their power along. "It's not meant to help me." He offered with a knowing grin.

Flame blinked at that, wondering just what the foolhardy minstrel meant for a long moment.

Realization hit her a moment later when a familiar longsword pierced her chest from behind, the bloodied tip rising up before her eyes as it went through a lung. There was the briefest gasp of pain from the disheveled woman, then the shuddering that came with death.

"Even when my luck runs out, there's still plenty for my friends." Orville concluded, sinking onto his back and relaxing to focus on his wounds.

Choking, Flame dropped her second sickle and reached for the blade that ran through her body. "Im…impossible…" She uttered, coughing up blood.

Ness Benson, rejuvenated by the healing potions he had managed to drink, twisted the sword in her torso and leaned his head in next to her ear. "I told you that nobody was dying here today except you and yours, witch." He hissed. He pulled his sword out of her in one smooth motion, and her body fell to the ground, lifeless before it hit.

Ness tucked his sword away, still aching from the burns he had taken but no longer in critical danger. He stumbled over to Morris Redtail, pinned to a tree by a well-placed sickle. "You look awful, Morris." He commented, smiling weakly to his friend.

The imp tried to laugh at that, only managing to cough before he shivered from his wound again. "Stop…trying to cheer me up." He uttered. Ness pulled the sickle out of the tree's bark and threw it aside, cradling the imp in his hands. "Damnation." Morris winced when his injured wing dangled over the sides of Ness' palms. "That's twice now…you've gotten me out of a bind."

"Will you be all right?"

"My injuries can usually heal if I have enough time, and they're not serious." The imp wheezed, staring forlornly at the huge tear in his bloodied wing. "But I don't know…if I can fix that myself."

Orville wandered over, a bit more color in his cheeks as he glowed at the end of a quick melody. "I'm nowhere near as talented as Rachel, but I think I might be able to cast a healing spell for you." He reassured the imp. He placed a hand over Morris' limp body and began to hum again, and a soft white cloud of light enveloped the devil, stretching towards his wing and knitting the flesh together. Morris seemed to breathe a little easier at that, nodding slowly.

"Heh…That's a bard for you." Morris said gratefully. He motioned to Ness to lift him up, and once he was closer to the man's face, he coughed. "Ness, I'm a little tired. If it's all the same to you, could I sit on your shoulder for a while?"

The swordsman smiled at that. "Certainly." He set Morris down on his left shoulder, and the imp was soon relaxed and stretched out, his breathing shallow.

Ness glanced over to Orville, worried about the little devil. The bard gave him a smile. "It was a tiring fight for him. I doubt I'd be feeling much better if I'd been pinned to a tree."

"Just as long as he'll live." Ness answered, once he felt Morris' movements stop altogether, and the imp began to snore softly. "Marik would never forgive me if his friend didn't make it back alive." He put his sword away and walked over to his cloak. "Hmm, the flames are dying down."

"Oil doesn't last forever, you know." Orville said, moving towards the large pond in the great clearing, kneeling down beside the tainted water. "It was meant to trap us long enough for her and her winged creatures to eliminate us, not keep us here for days on end."

"There's just something I don't get." Ness said, shaking out his scorched and soaked green cloak. "If she meant to burn the woods down, why would she bother to poison the water?"

"I don't think it was immediately intentional." Orville answered, running a hand through the steeped green and black water with a grimace. "She mentioned an 'impurification'…These woods were safeguarded by the presence of Fanachlor's grace, and her servants. It might have just been a side effect."

The swordsman scoffed at that and walked over to her body, reaching down to examine her body for anything of value. The thick leather gloves were the first things he removed from Flame's corpse. "I don't think the villagers of Kalen would call what's happened to them a 'side effect.' You worship Fanachlor, don't you?"

"The keeper of the glade is my mistress, yes." Orville answered placidly.

"So…you know how to undo what Flame did, right?"

"I don't know _what_ she did to begin with." The minstrel exhaled, rolling his eyes.

Ness walked over to the shore of the pond alongside Orville and sat down, feeling Morris' weight shift with him. "It seemed to me her talents were in fire, not poison."

"You didn't get it, did you?" Orville said quietly. He glanced over to the older swordsman, getting a blank stare for his trouble. "She was a druid once." Ness blinked, lifting an eyebrow.

"What makes you say that, Mr. Gracefoot?"

"A few things." The minstrel replied. "She first thought the Druids of Ashra had sent us, a group that few knew about. And she seemed to carry a special venom for me, once she discovered I worshipped Fanachlor. That, and she said she had renounced her faith in the glade goddess as well. But the biggest thing, my friend, was the presence of all these fire bats."

Ness blinked. "I don't follow."

Orville offered a small smirk. "Druids live in harmony with the woods, summon allies from the wild. The creatures we fought were summoned, of that make no doubt, but they were no friends of these woods, Ness. A druid's talents, corrupted for evil means. I've heard stories of those who go against the teachings of Fanachlor…those who become cut off. Some become so bitter that they strike out and turn against the very wilderness they once pledged to protect. Flame was one such person."

"And now she's dead." Ness pointed out. "So why hasn't the river cleared up?"

Orville pointed to the pond, and the bubbling fountain at its center. "Because its source still remains desecrated." He glanced about, sighing. "Without the druid that protected these woods, Fanachlor's healing touch has no conduit to purify these waters, to make them as they once were."

Ness rubbed at his chin. "Still. Flame could make fire, but beyond that, how could she create such an illness in the water?"

Orville thought it over for a moment, staring into the murky water. Only by chance did he spy, in the swirling hues of black and green liquid, the presence of a dark object lying on the bottom of the pond. "Wha…" He picked himself up and walked into the pond, causing Ness to cry out in dismay for a moment.

Careful not to swallow or ingest any of the putrid water, Orville reached a hand down into the dissipating muck and fumbled around, finally producing a broken stone that oozed out dark black and green mire. It gave off a horrible stench, nearly causing him to wretch when the fumes cleared the waters.

"By the gods!" Ness paled. Orville tossed it onto the shore and dug around in his rucksack, pulling out a thick storage bladder.

"Put that damnable poison in this!" Orville demanded. "That should keep the stench and danger away!" Not one to argue with such sound reasoning, Ness gingerly opened the sewn sheep stomach and tossed the cracked stone inside of it, drawing the strings tight and sighing when he could no longer smell it.

"This was what she used?" Ness asked the minstrel. Still woozy from the fumes of the poison, Orville slumped back onto the shore and stared up into the canopy of the forest, nodding slowly. "Incredible. How one little stone could cause so much damage?" Ness wondered.

"It's no ordinary stone." Orville pointed out when he caught his breath again. He tilted his head to the side and looked up to Ness and the sleeping Morris. "I was actually sent to look for it, you see."

The swordsman scowled at that, suspicious of Ness once more. "And just why would that be?"

"A week and a half ago, it was stolen from a caravan in Korleen. It was on its way to the Mandrake Shores to be destroyed. That thing's true name is Deshrik'venya, a minor item placed on Terrus some years ago by agents of Mortus. The Druids of Ashra had located it, and had hoped to eliminate it forever…" Orville managed a glare down at the thick bag. "It seems that the stone had one last trick to play."

"Did it call Flame to it?"

"Not every dangerous item you hear about has a mind of its own, you know." Orville reminded the swordsman. "No, it didn't. But Flame was strong enough to overwhelm three acolytes of Fanachlor by herself."

"So they sent you, then?" Ness posed. "A mere bard?"

To this, the blond-haired man gave another smile and stood up, satisfied to see that the water was beginning to clear, and that without the presence of Deshrik'venya, Sarine's Woods seemed more alive once again.

"For the most part." He said, his mind distracted by something else. "Unorthodox, isn't that what you called me?"

"I did."

"Well, that's what they call me too." Orville Gracefoot answered, walking back over and picking up his broad-brimmed hat with a smile. "But I get things done."

Ness Benson stood back up and exhaled, keenly aware of the slumbering imp on his shoulders. "With a little help from us, of course."

"Of course." Orville replied, offering a wink.

Ness did a double take, then looked to Orville with a wan smile. "You lied, you know."

"I did?" The bard exclaimed, feigning surprise. "Whenever did I do that?"

"I could hear you talking to her before I jumped through the flames." Ness pointed out. "You said the Druids of Ashra didn't send you."

"Actually, I _didn't_ lie." Orville Gracefoot said, humming to himself. "She asked if the Druids of Ashra had sent me to 'take care of her'. The Druids of Ashra sent me to reclaim Deshrik'venya…Not to kill her." He thought about it for a moment longer, then shook his head. "Curious, though. Nobody really knew exactly what the stone was capable of. The old texts were mostly lost. I would have never thought of it as the source of the plague in Kalen. How fortuitous we've solved two problems in one fell swoop!"

Ness rolled his eyes and began to walk away from the glade. "Come on then, Gracefoot. Get us out of here. I've friends back in Kalen I'd like to see again."

Orville glanced over his shoulder once to the glade, slowly restoring itself. Without the offensive poison stone in the spring, the murk was quickly washing away, replaced with clear and pure water. "There's nothing else we can do here. Tell me, did our 'friend' Flame have anything of value on her?"

"Her gloves seemed to be special. I think I'll have Marik see what he can do to identify its properties. Chances are it's worth some money."

"Aah, I could use a reward from this harrowing quest." Orville said gratefully. "Thank you."

Ness gave the minstrel a frown. "Any money her leather gauntlets gain will not be for our use. The villagers of Kalen will need something to help rebuild after this tragedy." Orville blinked at that, surprised.

"You would hand over all that money…to them?"

"They need it more than we do." Benson pointed out gruffly, accompanied by a loud snore from the tired imp clutching to his shoulder.

Orville shook his head. "Unbelievable. Underneath all that grim veil, you have a streak of charity." The bard laughed at that, continuing forward in a pace that the exhausted Ness could match. "Strange, for a man with your reputation."

"I hate my reputation." Ness spat, tightening a fist. "You'd do well to forget it."

Orville shrugged, used to such threats. "You still don't like me, do you?"

"I tolerate you. You're useful at times, but annoying most others."

"So I am, so I am." Orville replied merrily. He blinked a few times, then smiled. "Say, I hope you remember our little wager."

"Oh, you mean the one I won?" Ness said easily. Orville threw him a look.

"No, the bet that _I _won."

"I don't think so." Ness disagreed.

"Oh, come on!" Orville argued. "I found the stone Deshrik'venya, the source of the river's poison! _And_ I nullified all the fire bats while you were busy fighting Flame, and losing, I might add!"

"True, and I won't belittle those accomplishments." Ness countered primly. "But she was toying with you. She nearly killed me, and had it not been for Rachel's potions of healing, I would not be standing here right now." He gave the minstrel a wink. "And besides, as I recall, Flame had you helpless on the ground, ready to burn you to death when I saved your life and ended hers. I believe the victory goes to me; I killed Flame, I saved you, and more importantly, Rachel's favor was with _me_ throughout this entire affair."

"But…" Orville began to argue, feeling his own position weaken.

"And if you want to get into specifics, you only found the stone." Ness said, giving him a triumphant smirk. "I was the one who sealed it away from harming anything else." He hefted the sewn stomach as proof.

Orville finally sighed and drew a hand across his face. "Unbelievable. Bested by a bloody swordsman. I never thought I'd see the day."

"Perhaps you should rethink using that pigsticker of yours, and get a real sword." Ness taunted. "But, seeing as I won our little bet, that means you shall respectfully bow out and allow me to pursue Rachel's affections unhindered."

"So it does, so it does." Orville sighed, wishing he had been clearer about the terms of their bargain. He thought for a few moments more, then coughed. "You know, you'll have to tell them at some point."

"About our wager? Are you mad?" Ness countered, another loud snore from Morris punctuating his disbelief.

Orville rolled his eyes. "No, not that. Your nickname…your reputation as 'The Cursed Blade'. I was surprised to see anybody accompanying you, much less survive past the first few days. Nobody in their right mind would go with you if they knew of your past."

"So why did you follow me then?" Ness retorted sharply.

"Like I said, nobody in their _right mind_ would go with you." Orville repeated with a guffaw. His tone went serious again soon after. "Really, Ness. At some point, you'll have to tell them. Or I will."

The swordsman's hand grabbed at Orville's arm, stopping him. Orville looked back to his temporary comrade with a raised eyebrow, finding Ness shaking his head.

"You can't tell them. Please, you can't."

"It would do better for them to hear it from you than a stranger in passing." Orville warned the swordsman, pulling his arm back. "Think about it. They have to know, Ness. And the sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned."

"So you won't tell them?"

Orville was just about to say yes, but an idea popped into his head and he snapped his mouth shut quickly. Smiling, he shrugged. "If you alter the terms of our agreement, I might be persuaded to forget everything I've ever heard about you."

Ness tensed at that, rising on his hackles. "Bards." He muttered, spitting out the word with renewed distaste. "Fine. What's the new terms? You have me step aside so you can woo Rachel, is that it?"

"Oh no, no." Orville scoffed. "You won that gamble, I wouldn't take that from you. In exchange for my silence, I shall let you win…this day." He pointed to Ness. "But the next time that our paths should cross, if I should find Rachel still unpartnered, I will assume you failed in wooing her…and then it shall be _you_ who steps aside and lets me court the fair maiden, hmm?"

Ness smiled, thinking it a fair agreement. After all, he thought to himself, that would be a long time away. And Rachel would come to love him long before that. He extended his hand. "You have yourself an accord, Mr. Gracefoot."

They shook on it, and the minstrel strolled on ahead, Ness following close by. "But…you _will_ tell them soon, yes?" Orville repeated.

Ness sighed, immediate disaster averted, but the wall of stone that was his nickname coming up on them fast. "I'll have to." They continued through the woods, the cheerful minstrel, the snoring familiar, and the moody swordsman.

Ness did not look forward to the day when he could no longer hide his past from Rachel and Marik.

* * *

><p>The first signs of improvement had come about halfway through the day. Between the purified water that Rachel and Father Perdast had conjured, and the powerful spells of healing they had wrought, the Calyssan had found more and more of their patients returning to, and staying in good health.<p>

"It must have been cumulative." Father Perdast said, scratching at his head with a fair measure of disbelief. "The more poisoned water they drank, the worse they got."

Rachel smiled for a long moment and sat down in a chair, relaxing before giving her head a shake. "That only solves our immediate problem. The river is still poisoned, and unless my friends can figure out what is the cause of it, we are still forced to rely on what our prayers and spells can forge. And I can't keep that up forever, you know."

"Nor can I." The old priest commented, giving her a smile. "But you have been a tremendous help to us all. I hope you have not worn yourself out so terribly today. I thought last night that you would perish in your sleep from exhaustion."

Rachel looked up to the ceiling, an unbidden thought coming to mind. "No. Not while I have friends who need me. Friends who care about me."

She looked over to Father Perdast and gave the old man a smile. "I'm a little worried about them, you know. Even if Morris went with them…"

The old cleric's eyes darkened. "Ah, yes. Him. The imp." Rachel winced at the sharpness in his tone, all too familiar with the hatred there. "Honestly now, why do you tolerate the presence of such a vile creature?"

"Morris is not vile." Rachel retorted, her respect for the man tempered down by his prejudices. "He's as good and loyal a companion I've ever known."

"How can that be, though?" Father Perdast argued. "He is a creature of the Depths, Miss Ashbury. He does not belong on our world!"

"He belongs with Marik." Rachel continued stubbornly.

"Aah, yes. The eccentric mage." Father Perdast clutched at the sigil of Solares hung about his neck. "I'd urge you to reconsider your friends, Miss Ashbury. You are a wonderful girl, but the company you keep may get you into trouble some day. And I would hate to see it come to that."

The young woman gave him a long look, scrutinizing and disappointed. "Do not judge others by their appearance. It often disguises the true soul underneath." She stood up, pushing her hair back. "That is a teaching of my goddess, Calyssa."

"Solares' teachings are few, but they are clear." Father Perdast answered solemnly. "Heal the sick and the injured. Protect the weak. And above all else, do not be deceived by evil…and seek its end in all you do."

Rachel stared down at him. "You don't believe me, do you?" The man looked at her blankly. "You don't think that Morris, that Marik, can be more than what they appear?"

"An imp, and a mage who trafficks in his company?" The old man said sadly. "I've lived many years, and never has such a pairing ever been made for beneficial means in all that time. If you will not part company with them, then keep your eyes open, for your own sake."

The small temple felt very inhospitable at that moment. Rachel kept herself from crying, and shook her head. "I will keep my heart open wider…If only because you have forgotten how to." She gave the old priest a curtsy. "It's late. I should go and rest for tomorrow."

Emile Perdast closed his eyes and waved her off, too stubborn to be swayed by her words, and too disappointed in her own tenacity to say anything more. Rachel turned about and left the sanctuary, sweeping up her scarf and cloak on the way out.

Eyes blurred with tears of anger, she threw the temple doors open and nearly stumbled into the towering figure of Marik Observant, just about to knock on the door. She stumbled back a few steps, glancing up to the dark hood she had grown accustomed to seeing as his face.

"Marik…" She began, wiping at her eyes.

His sleeves went down to his sides, and the hood cocked at an angle. _"You've been crying. Why?" _He posed, concerned for her.

"Oh, it's just…" She began, taking a moment to compose herself. "It's just Father Perdast. He's wrong about everything."

_"Like what?"_

"He's wrong about Morris." She continued. "He's wrong about you. And he's wrong about me."

The Sorceror seemed to mull over that realization for a few moments, then exhaled. _"Clerics of Solares are the strongest healers, Rachel, and the most prevalent religious order on Ashra. Nobody ever said that they were the most understanding souls, even as caring as they are." _He stepped away from the door, letting her come outside. _"Just what did he say about Morris and myself?"_

"That Morris was evil, and that because you associated with him, you had to be too." Rachel continued. "But he was wrong."

_"He never bothered to look with his divining magics. You did."_ Marik said, nonplussed.

"But doesn't that upset you?" Rachel asked, curious. "To know that you were judged before anyone ever knew you?"

_"I'm always judged, Rachel." _The Sorceror said, his voice nearly a whisper. _"Sorcerors have a reputation in Ashra we all struggle against. If people think me evil, there's nothing I can say to change it. All I can do is keep going, keep traveling along my road, and hope that some day, things will be different."_

While he said that, Marik heard the words of his father, spoken to him weeks before.

_**I trust you, Marik. It's the world I don't trust.**_

The Sorceror bowed his head and sighed. _"It's nothing new, Rachel. And it's nothing you can change."_

"But I can." She insisted stubbornly. "I know you, Marik. I know who you really are, what you're capable of. And if I could come to realize that, if I could change…then surely, everybody else can."

Hidden in his hood, Marik's eyes twinkled as he gave the girl a sad smile. _"I wish everyone was like you."_

He shook his head and turned about, her words carrying a fear up from his heart. She said she knew him…but she didn't know. She couldn't. If she did, how quickly those words would fade. How shallow that promise would seem. Despite all he did, Marik knew…

There was no changing the fact he was a monster.

_"I was about to get you out of there, anyhow." _He said, switching topics and looking up to the fading daylight. _"I felt like taking a walk. Would you care to come with me?"_

Rachel smiled, tightening the red scarf about her neck. "I think a walk sounds wonderful right now."

The Sorceror nodded and plodded on ahead at a slow pace, allowing the girl to keep stride with him.

"Say, Marik…I have a question."

_"I might have an answer." _He responded humorously. _"Go ahead."_

"This afternoon, when I took my nap…"

_"…Yes?"_

"Just how long did you stay in the room?" She asked. "Because when I woke up, you weren't there."

Marik thought it over for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and lied. _"As soon as I realized you were asleep, I left the way I'd come, through the window." _

"I see." Rachel answered, almost a little sad at that.

Marik frowned, finding the topic uncomfortable. _"I mean, it's very improper for a man to be in a young woman's room while she's sleeping." _

"It wasn't my room." She noted with a smile.

_"All the same." _Marik argued stubbornly, blushing darker shades she could not see.

Rachel let out a small laugh and continued on in silence, enjoying the walk with Marik in quiet contemplation.

Father Perdast was wrong, she said to herself again. Morris was not evil. And Marik was no scheming, power-mad spellshaper.

There was more to them than that. That was why she called them her friends.

* * *

><p>"I hope they're all right." Rachel said quietly, folding her arms against her chest as they continued on. "Morris, Ness, and Orville. Have you heard from them recently?"<p>

_"There was some trouble in those woods…Morris and I can't actually 'talk' to each other when we're this far apart, but I do get a good sense of his feelings."_

Rachel nodded, absorbing that as they strolled through the town. "So what did you feel from him?"

_"Weariness. Failing adrenaline. Then he fell asleep." _

Rachel shivered. "That's not good." The Sorceror shrugged, seeming indifferent. "I hope they're all right." She steeled herself and nodded. "They will be all right."

_"You have a lot of faith in them, don't you?" _Marik posed, his voice wheezing a bit. Rachel shrugged.

"Why shouldn't I? I can't dread the worst. I have to believe that they can walk away from it." She glanced up to him. "Is that so wrong?"

_"Not in the slightest." _He answered, his hood moving back and forth. _"And you were right, by the way." _

"About what?"

_"About them." _Marik noted. _"They're perfectly fine. A little tired, but then, so are you." _

Rachel relaxed. "Oh, thank goodness." She exhaled. "Are they coming back?"

_"Of course."_ The Sorceror concluded. He seemed to laugh for a moment after a pause. _"It's strange, though." _

"What is?"

_"You and me." _The quiet mage said. _"I never…"_

She frowned. "Never what?"

_"I…I never thought…" _He fumbled, _"I never thought that I would ever find somebody who would be willing to talk to me…without Morris there to speak for me." _He nodded slowly. _"I never thought I'd find another friend like Morris, but…" _He shrugged his massive shoulders. _"I suppose Weyveliste had a reason for turning Morris and I to Westshire."_

Rachel smiled at that. "Did you just call me a friend?"

The mage froze for a moment, then shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. _"I suppose I did. Is that all right with you?" _

Rachel only smiled wider. "It's more than all right. You're my friend too."

The Sorceror seemed to laugh at that, a soft repeating wheeze. Rachel turned away, still smiling.

It was another minute before she concentrated on their surroundings, surprised. "Say, Marik, aren't we going towards the river?"

_"Of course." _The traveling mage assured her.

"But why?" She pressed. "We know it's poisoned, what good can we do there?"

_"We can wait." _Marik answered her, and stopped twenty feet away from the riverbank, pointing his sleeve to the west.

There, with the last vestiges of daylight disappearing behind them, came two trudging figures, and one exuberant, fluttering creature that barreled through the air towards Marik and Rachel, laughing his fool head off.

"We did it, Marik! By golly, we did it!" Came Morris' high-pitched laugh as he slammed into the Sorceror's chest, causing Marik to stumble backwards from the impact for a moment.

Enthralled, Rachel looked to Marik. "You knew." She said, grinning. "You rascal, you _knew _they were coming back!"

_"Of course." _The Sorceror made a strange, satisfied grunt. _"I could understand Morris's bad jokes again." _

Marik's reply left Morris speechless for a moment, blinking up at his master. "Marik, you didn't just…You talked!" He exclaimed, horrified by the concept. He looked over to Rachel, expecting the girl to scream in horror.

But Rachel just stood there, rubbing her arms for warmth in the waning daylight, unafraid and unsurprised. "Is something wrong, Morris?" She asked him, still grinning.

The imp stared at her, dazed. "He just…and you…" He whirled about on Marik, regaining some of his wits. "Marik, she heard you! Are you nuts?!"

_"She's a friend, Morris." _The Sorceror explained calmly. _"And friends talk to each other."_

Morris shook his head back and forth in an easy sweep. "I don't know what you did while we were gone, but it's going to take me a while to get used to." Marik gave a solemn nod of his head, and the imp climbed up onto his shoulder, exhaling loudly. "All the same, though, it's good to be back with you, boss."

Marik went back to their telepathic bond, seeing Orville and Ness draw near. _**And it's good to have you back, Morris. I missed you.**_

"Well, Miss Ashbury, we went and we conquered!" Orville Gracefoot laughed, taking off his wide feathered hat and giving a flamboyant bow. Ness drew up behind him, rolling his eyes.

"Aye, we did. But those are stories for tomorrow. It's late, and I'm in need of rest. As we all are."

Rachel motioned back to Kalen. "Welcome back, then. Come on, I just finished up for the night as well."

Reunited, the four friends and their odd minstrel companion strolled back towards the town, and to the inn where they would soon fade into slumber. And while Ness and Orville remained relatively quiet about what had taken place, Rachel and Marik could not mistake the aura of triumph about them and Morris.

They had succeeded.

Kalen would be saved.

* * *

><p>While they had gone to sleep immediately, Ness and Orville were quick the next morning to try and explain what they had run into. Sarine's Woods, that forgotten grove of trees in Samael's Lands, was the source of the river that ran by Kalen. It was also the source of the poison thanks to the presence of the formerly unidentified relic named Deshrik'venya. With great detail, Orville recounted their struggles against the fire bats, and against their master, the ex-druid who called herself Flame.<p>

It was their successes that Rachel was the happiest for, and through Morris, Marik promised he would have the leather gauntlets researched and sold, and the gold from that transaction routed back to Kalen's mayor to aid in the town's reconstruction.

In one stroke, they had located the source of the river's poison, and they had saved an ancient grove of woods from destruction. Yet one question that came to mind was still troubling.

Was the river itself safe again?

With Father Perdast in tow, the band of five set out to the river, everybody tense. They didn't go unnoticed by the townsfolk, and the mayor, Riley Gheld, came along soon after with a few other members of the town.

"Just what are you going to do?" Father Perdast asked, confused as to why he had been taken so hastily from his breakfast. Ness glanced over to him, stern.

"If our hopes are correct, Rachel's divine connections will help reveal a truth to your situation that will leave this town for the better."

"I see." Father Perdast commented, keeping a wary eye on Marik and the imp Morris who sat on the black-robed Sorceror's shoulder. Morris glowered at the man in distaste, and the old priest shrunk a few steps away, intimidated by the beady-eyed gaze.

"It's not a matter of hope." Orville countered with a smile, strumming at his lute as they walked on. "It's just a matter of time, actually."

They reached the edge of the waters that had so frightened them all only two days before, and Ness walked up beside Rachel, who was biting her lip as she looked down to the waters.

"Hey." Ness began, lifting a hand up and touching her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"I'm just a little worried." Rachel replied, looking over to the older man with some hesitation. "What if the poison isn't gone yet? What if it will never be gone?"

Ness smiled at that. "Well, that would be a terrible thing, wouldn't it? It would seem to invalidate all the hard work that Orville and I put in yesterday." He exhaled. "I would have died out there, if not for you. I have faith in you, Rachel, so stop worrying. Look through your magical eyes, and tell us the truth, whatever it is."

The girl nodded to that, stepping closer to the water and drawing her cloak about her a little tighter. Taking in a deep breath, she dipped down to the reservoir of magic inside of her soul. "Rosequeen, aid my sight…fill my vision with your light."

Motes of glimmering white danced about her, and when she opened her eyes, they sparkled a bright green.

Every person in attendance held their breath as she looked to the river through the divining magics that allowed her to see poison, in all its forms.

The rolling waters had been murky and grim the last time she looked. But now, after the death of Flame and the removal of Deshrik'venya from the river's wellspring, it sparkled a clear blue.

Rachel smiled and stepped back, grinning to her friends. "It's gone." She declared, open relief in her voice. "The poison is all gone!"

The mayor and the townsfolk cheered. Father Perdast looked stunned. Morris jumped up into the air and began to spiral about in exuberant loops. Marik just stood there, and crossed his sleeves in front of him. Orville Gracefoot strummed a triumphant chord on his lute.

Ness was the most celebratory of them all, running over to Rachel and lifting her up into the air with a long laugh, spinning her about while his strong hands clung to her waist. The move caught Rachel off guard, and she came down breathless and flushed.

"Just what was that for?" She asked, when her feet touched ground again. The blue-eyed swordsman smiled as he looked at her, something there she had almost forgotten about. An interest that seemed to go beyond friendship.

"That was for you." He answered simply. "The most wonderful woman I know."

Rachel gave a weak smile to that and rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop it."

Mayor Gheld came over and began to vigorously shake Orville's hand. "On behalf of all of Kalen, I'd like to thank each and every one of you for what you've done for us! You have delivered us from certain death, and made Kalen safe once again!" Once he was done there, he went over and shook Ness' as well, then reached for Rachel's. "I think we owe the most to you, though."

Rachel turned and glanced to her friends. "It took all of us to make this happen. It wasn't just me." She motioned to Marik and Morris. "You forgot about him."

"Of course, of course." Mayor Gheld admonished himself. He went over and extended his hand, smiling. "Even you played a role, sir. I'm thankful."

The Sorceror tilted his hood to the side, and the imp on his shoulder chuckled. "Ehh, I think Rachel meant me, chum." He jumped into the air and hovered there, holding out his tiny hand. "But you're welcome, for all it's worth."

Unlike the head cleric, the mayor didn't seem fazed at all, at least not by his appearance. "You are perhaps the strangest little fellow I've ever met." He said with a grin, holding out a finger for Morris to shake. "My thanks to you as well."

The imp nodded, his large ears perking up. "Well, I…Aaw, shucks." His voice seemed to deepen for a moment, and his eyes dimmed. "The woman responsible for your town's troubles, Flame, carried an unusual set of leather bracers with her. Once I've identified them and sold them off, you can expect a sizable amount of gold to be returned to your care. This town will need it."

Orville walked over beside the Sorceror, slipping his lute over his shoulder. "That was actually Marik talking there. Our little friend Morris interprets for him."

Enamored, and stunned by the generosity, Mayor Gheld could only shake his head. "You truly are a miracle." He finally said. "Just days ago we were all dying, and now…" He wiped at the corner of his eye, feeling a tear beginning to well up there. "If you are ever nearby and wish to visit, consider Kalen a second home. You will always be welcomed here as the heroes you are."

Rachel looked over to Ness, who gave a shrug. "I know, Rachel. I know what you're going to say. It was the right thing to do."

"Well, I was right, wasn't I?" She countered.

Morris and Marik's attention waned from the exuberant mayor and his followers, towards the stunned, but still grimacing Father Emile Perdast. He caught sight of the two and scowled, despite all that was right in the town.

Casually, they strolled over, fast making the Solarian cleric more and more nervous.

"I don't suppose you have anything to say, do you father?" Morris Redtail posed, sitting on Marik's shoulder and letting his barbed tail swing back and forth behind him.

Father Perdast reddened. "And what would I have to say to a foul creature like you?"

Ness and Rachel started at that, wanting to say something. Orville silenced them both with a shake of his head, his eyes solemn. "No, don't interfere. This is something they have to see to."

Morris was doing his best not to jump up and start scratching the old cleric's eyes out, and Marik could only do so much to restrain his anger. "I don't know. Thank you, perhaps? I was wrong about you? You're not such a bad fellow after all? I'd like you to meet my daughter?" The imp threw up his arms. "Come on. We just saved your town. Sarine's Woods is safe from a very, _very_ twisted lady. And the river's not poisoned anymore! Whether you like it or not, I'm not as terrible as you think."

Still, Father Perdast remained unmoved. "Whatever deeds you may claim, whatever good you accomplish, it does not change the fact that you are, in your heart, evil."

Marik had had quite enough of the man's insinuations, and furthermore, he was tired of trying to be calm and composed. In deed, he thought, they might find the acceptance that would not be afforded them by their appearance. That principle had held throughout their journey, save for now.

Out of nowhere, a green hand appeared and wrapped about Father Perdast's throat, squeezing just strong enough to make the old man gasp and strain for breath, but a far cry from strangling him.

He wanted to say it. He wanted to growl the venomous words that boiled up inside of him, to snap the cleric into his place. Only Morris' sudden worry and his father's warning stopped him.

Rachel was a unique case. He could not risk anyone else knowing. So he let Morris speak, and the imp did of his own volition.

"Evil?! I've _seen_ evil, you doddering old fossil." Morris snapped. "I've stared it in the face in the depths of Fenderson's Pass. I suffered under it _every day_ until Marik summoned me from my 'home', and to a place where I finally _did_ belong. In all that time, there's only one kind of evil I won't ever tolerate. And that's you being blind in your perceptions!"

"How…dare you…" The old man gasped, struggling against the Sorceror's hand.

The mayor went to stop Marik, but Ness reached a hand to block his path. "He won't hurt him." Ness assured a worried Mayor Gheld. "He's just making a point."

"Are you sure he won't hurt him?"

Ness' blue eyes were dead calm. "Trust your hopes, not your doubts."

"Marik's going to let go of you in a couple of seconds, father." Morris snapped. "And when he does, you're going to do something for your own benefit. You're going to cast a spell which will allow you to look for the presence of evil. And I want you to take a long hard look at me and Marik. Do you understand?"

Infuriated, but still cognizant enough to do such a thing, Father Perdast nodded his head.

The green hand of magical energy dissipated, and Father Perdast clutched at the medallion about his neck. "So be it, you little devil!" The cleric cried out. "If you want me to expose you for the evil you truly are, then so be it!"

He came charging at them, a fist in the air with white light dancing about it. "Solares, smite this evil with your holy light!"

Rachel gasped. Ness paled. Even Orville's jaw dropped. The Mayor and the townsfolk stared.

The fist impacted, and the divine energies roiled around Morris, preparing to rend holy pain upon him.

But no pain came. The light swirled, then faded after only a few seconds. And a grim Morris stared to the incredulous cleric with his arms folded.

"But…that was…you should have…"

"If I was evil, that would have hurt me." Morris concluded darkly. "But I'm not evil. And you, Father Perdast…You have a lot of soul-searching to do."

Marik and Morris did nothing more to the old cleric after that. They simply turned about and began to walk towards the north. Shaking his head sadly, Ness patted the mayor on the arm. "I imagine it will be some time before we come through your fair village again." The swordsman said. "Perhaps by then, your clergy will be more understanding."

A little heartbroken, Rachel walked after Marik and Morris, Ness catching up beside her and putting a supportive arm around her shoulder. For a change, she didn't try and move it, letting him hold her.

Only once did she look back to the still stunned and thoroughly confused cleric Emile Perdast. His tired eyes met her bright blue ones, looking for an answer, trying to apologize.

She closed her eyes and shook her head sadly, then turned about and let Ness lead her off.

Orville had the final word as he went over to stand by Father Perdast, gauging the man.

"I…I didn't know." The old priest struggled to say, disbelieving. "She was right. She was right all along."

"I hope I never have to grow as old as you." Orville Gracefoot commented blithely, earning a shocked look from the cleric and the mayor who came over beside them. "I hope I die young, if only so I will never build up such resentment and distrust for all those who are not like me."

He gave the mayor a polite nod and took off at a jog, knowing he had a long way to catch up to his newfound friends.

* * *

><p>"You tried, Morris." Ness Benson said consolingly. "The both of you tried as hard as you could to get through to him, but some people are just impossible to change."<p>

"I'm not a monster." Morris said dully, staring towards the ground. "Why can't anyone see that?" It was a quiet sentiment, and one that all accompanying them could understand. What nobody could catch, as Morris uttered those words, was that Marik quietly echoed them himself.

Orville sighed. "Forget about that doddering old priest. Doubtful that he will remain much longer in that town, calling disfavor upon Kalen's new heroes."

Rachel glanced back at the minstrel, pulling her cloak tighter about herself as she finally broke a respectful distance from Ness. "Heroes? Why do you use such a strong word?"

Orville smiled, strumming at his lute as they continued along through the open fields and plains of Samael's Lands. "Let me see. Stopped a band of bandits impersonating Vagabonds of Weyveliste? Survived the undead hordes inside of Fenderson's Pass? And now, you have saved Kalen _and_ Sarine's Woods from certain doom?" Orville chuckled. "Those sound like heroic accomplishments to me, and you still have the fabled Grey Shadow somewhere in front of you. So the only question is, my friends, where shall you all go from here?"

Rachel blinked. "You mean, you're not going to come with us?"

The minstrel offered an apologetic look. "At some point, I shall have to turn to the east, to deliver the recovered relic of Mortus back to the Druids of Ashra for safe disposal. As I explained to Ness, I came through Kalen on their orders." His feathered hat ruffled in the breeze. "All the same, I am glad we met again. Were it not for Ness and Morris, I would have assuredly met my end at Flame's hands." He winked at the imp. "And be sure, Morris, I _do_ consider you a worthy companion to have around. Give people time, as you did me, and they shall warm up to you. For the most part." He shrugged. "Just don't worry about those people you can't change. You'll be the better for it." Morris thought it over for a moment, then nodded gravely.

"I suppose so." He turned to Marik, asking a silent mental question. He spoke again soon after, Marik's words going through him. "So just where are we going from here, Ness?"

"It only makes sense to travel to Lightfell." The swordsman answered.

"The capital city? Why?" Rachel inquired. "I mean, now that we're through Fenderson's Pass, shouldn't we be moving towards the Grey Shadow? I don't know much about Ashra yet, but I seem to recall that Istus is to the west."

"Oh, it is." Ness admitted. "But we have a great deal of spoils to see to, and Marik still has to get those leather gauntlets of Flame's augured. Neither are things we can accomplish on the move, and I'm sure we all could use one last reprieve before we continue on."

"You make it sound like a dying man's last meal." Morris joked.

"If I do, I apologize." Ness glanced about with a frown. "All the same, Istus is one of the least welcome places to be in Ashra. Once we enter there, we shall find no sanctuary, and few allies. If there is anything to be bought or obtained before entering into the Grey Shadow's domain, it will be in Lightfell."

"You're always trying to scare us off." Morris chided the man. "Haven't you learned, threats only make us stay around longer?"

Ness glanced over to Orville, expecting some half-witted remark. The minstrel strummed away on his lute, casually watching it all unfold before him with veiled mirth.

"I found strange companions when I stopped in Westshire, it seems." Ness Benson finally said, exhaling in defeat. "Very well. But I'll have no more argument about it. We're going to Lightfell. It's a crossroads for the highways of Ashra anyhow, and will give us a straight course to Istus." He fingered his burned and torn green cloak forlornly. "Besides, I could use something more durable."

"Then I shall accompany you for a while longer." Orville said triumphantly. Rachel's face warmed up at that, and Morris perked up as well. Only Ness seemed less than thrilled, though he tried to keep that fact well hidden. Orville threw an apologetic shrug to the man. "Well, I don't really have anything better to do, and like you said, Lightfell is a crossroads. You shall go west, and I shall go east." He grinned at Ness and winked. "And for a time, we shall part ways, but I do hope that someday soon, your band and I would meet again."

"That would be wonderful, Orville!" Rachel exclaimed, thrilled at the possibility of spending more time with the charming fellow she also called a friend.

Ness rolled his eyes and kept staring forward. "I imagine you do." He let the matter drop and shifted topics. "So, Orville. It's been a while since I've been in Lightfell. Has there been anything new in the last five years?"

"Not really." Orville said with a wink. "If one can say anything about that fair city, it's that it doesn't ever really change much with age."

"Aye, that's the truth of it all right." Ness replied with a knowing laugh. Piqued by the swordsman's interest, Orville went on ahead with Ness in tow, regaling him with smaller tales of lore and musings about the grand city still days ahead of them.

Marik and Rachel took up the rear, with Morris giving Marik a cautious glance before flying on ahead.

"He worries about you." Rachel noted.

_"As I worry about him, some days." _Marik replied easily. _"Father Perdast…I should have handled that differently."_

Rachel thought about it for a moment, then looked on ahead, her eyes distant. "Not everyone is like him, you know. I hope Morris listens to Orville's advice about that. We're not like that priest."

_"Chances are he will. Or he'll forget." _Marik commented dryly. _"But I'm glad that you and Ness are here. It's been good for him."_

"And what about you?" Rachel inquired. "Compared to when we first met, you've opened up too."

Marik couldn't argue with that, for he had. But Rachel only knew half the story. _"As much as I can." _He finally said, lapsing into silence and the troubling depths of his thoughts.

The healer stopped herself from sighing. "I hope some day, you'll change that opinion." She said hopefully. Marik glanced at her, surprised. "For your own sake." She said. "You avoid everyone. It's not healthy, Marik."

_"You know why I hide."_ Marik answered grimly, walking a bit faster. _"As much as you claim otherwise, what rests underneath my robes would mortify you."_

That, Rachel Ashbury had a hard time believing. "Just what could be so horrible you would hide yourself away from the world?" She posed, curious.

For a change, Marik did not answer. It was a tender nerve, she decided, though it still ate away at her.

In that moment, her perception of the mage changed. She thought she had come to understand Marik Observant, that she had peeled away all the layers to reach the core.

Now, it seemed, there were more layers to him than she had first anticipated.

"You don't make it easy to be your friend." She offered sadly.

Inside of his hood, Marik closed his black eyes and kept walking. _"But you keep trying, don't you?"_ The young woman nodded. _"Some things, you should let be, Rachel. But…"_

The mage froze midsentence and turned about, as if looking for something on the horizon. Concerned, Rachel pulled on an end of her red scarf. "What's wrong, Marik?"

Frowning, the Sorceror concentrated, trying to discern the presence he thought he had felt. Like a hunch, almost, it had come.

_"Nothing."_ He finally said, shaking his head to wave off the puzzling sensation in his mind.

Rachel didn't accept that excuse. "No, really. You did the same exact thing when we left Fenderson's Pass. What did you say back then? You felt like you were being watched?"

Marik shrugged. _"I suppose, but there's nobody out here except us. It's probably just my mind playing tricks on me."_ He motioned towards Orville, Ness, and Morris, barreling on ahead and exchanging more tales and horrible jokes. _"Come on, we'd better catch up."_ Rachel rolled her eyes, but found no reason to pursue the matter further. The two spellcasters sped up their pace, catching up to their comrades and resuming their trek towards Lightfell.

It was minutes later, when they were all safely out of sight, that the malevolent, shroud-covered form of the Grey Shadow emerged from his invisibility. Behind his mask and narrowed eyes, he was concerned about the curious, formless mage in the black robes and cloak.

Twice now that strange spellshaper had pulled on some sort of instinct, somehow sensing the unearthly presence of the assassin he and his band were supposed to be chasing. But at least the Shadow knew now that they were going to Lightfell.

That was good for him, the Grey Shadow decided. They would be off their guard, relaxed; Lightfell was considered a 'safe' city, what with a wizard's guild, the grand home of the Church of Solares, and the capable king's Sunrise Guardians patrolling the streets. But the Grey Shadow knew that no street was safe, and even Lightfell had its dark understructure.

The mage in black had concerned him enough, he decided. In a few days, when the one known as Marik Observant had separated himself from The Cursed Blade and their female companion, he would reverse their roles as hunters and prey. The thought tantalized him, and despite himself, he smiled.

Wincing under the bright daylight, even with the aid of his dark clothing, the Grey Shadow reverted back to his prior state, disappearing from the glare of the midday sun. He followed after them, at a slower, more cautious pace. It would not do to confront them now, out in the relative wilds, where they had their guard up, and worse, were many instead of few.

He could wait, after all. Patience was his second best ally after the darkness…

And for the death of that worrisome mage, he had all the patience he needed.


	9. Eight: City of Lights

**Chapter Eight: City of Lights**

Jess Terwilliger stood guard at the southern road leading into Lightfell. His brown eyes searched for any sign of trouble through the visor of his glimmering helmet. As one of the Sunrise Guardians, the armored and armed royal protectors charged to keep both the king and all of Lightfell safe from danger, it was his duty to do so.

That, and the fact that he had pulled guard duty for the southern gate today.

"Here now, what's your business in Lightfell today?" His associate, Russell Decker said cheerfully. Unlike Jess, Russ had taken off his helmet, preferring to let the sun beat down on his forehead. Jess looked back to his right to see Russell approaching an old man on a wheeled cart being pulled by a tired looking mule.

The man, a farmer, took off his straw hat and mopped at his brow with a handkerchief. "I've got an early crop of beans in, and I'm taking them to market to see what the merchants are interested in buying."

Russell tilted his head to the side. "Beans now, is it? Well, I'd avoid the eastern market. I heard that a few carts came in today with some bushels of potatoes. You'll have your best luck in the central commissary."

The farmer smiled and tipped his hat. "My thanks, lieutenant." He dug behind him and pulled out a handful of the green vegetables, offering them. "For your advice?"

"I could use a mid-morning snack." Russell grinned, accepting them and stepping back. He tapped a gauntleted fist to his shining plate mail and nodded. "Go on ahead, father." The farmer gave them both a tip of his hat again and snapped the reins, urging the mule onward. When they had cleared the city gates, Jess lifted up his visor and glanced over at his companion.

"Mid-morning snack, Russell?"

"Well, breakfast actually." Russell countered, hungrily chewing away on the first bean stalk. "The missus didn't have time to finish my eggs and oatmeal before I had to report in here."

Jess chuckled and rolled his eyes. "At least you have a missus waiting for you at home. All I have is my dog, and he's not all that faithful."

"Ha!" Russell laughed, swallowing down a second string bean before Jess could blink. "How long have you been with us now, my boy? Two weeks now?"

"A month, actually." The younger Guardian said sheepishly.

"My lord, it's been a month already?" Russell mused, chewing on two more of the green stalks. "I didn't think it had been that long. So what do you think about the Sunrise Guardians, now that you have been knighted one?"

Jess smiled. "You know, I had a grander picture of what I'd be doing as a Guardian. Fighting off invading hordes of monsters, protecting royal caravans, perhaps even riding off into the field of battle." He looked about with quiet disappointment. "I didn't expect I would be given guard duty at one of the city gates."

"We're asked to serve in many ways." Russ answered easily. He sighed and clapped his gauntlets together to clear off the debris of his breakfast. "Not all of 'em are so dangerous, even if we do train for them. Trust me, my boy, when you get to be my age, and you've a wife and a little one on the way, you'll come to appreciate the quiet duties a bit more."

Through his visor, Jess's eyes thinned as he smiled. "You're assuming a lot about my future there, aren't you?"

"We all started off young and brave, Jess." Russell Decker replied, his thinning black hair waving in the breeze. He looked beyond Jess to the road and nodded. "Looks like we've got some more travelers."

Jess turned about, a more imposing figure in his perfectly polished armor. As Russell had indicated, four figures approached the gate, walking on foot. When they came closer, he could make out more details. A man wearing a simple tunic with chain underneath and a badly damaged green cloak led the way, confident and collected. Behind him was a young woman with long brown hair, a bright red scarf hanging about her neck, and a shimmering blue cloak around her shoulders. Close beside the girl was a blond-haired man with brightly colored clothing and a wide feathered hat. A lute was slung over his shoulder, and he hummed as he walked. The last member of their party was the most curious. It was a thin figure, taller than the other three, covered from head to foot in enshrouding black robes and cloak. His hood was pulled so far down he seemed to have no face at all. There was a curious lump on his shoulder, but Jess couldn't make it out at a distance.

"Well Jess, why don't you go ahead and handle this one?" Russell asked casually. He stretched his arms out and chuckled. "We'll see if you've been paying attention."

Jess Terwilliger nodded his helmeted head and stepped out into the middle of the road, setting one hand casually against the hilt of the sword that hung off his hip. "Hold and identify yourselves." He said, calm but forceful.

The armor-clad man in front smiled. "My, all prim and proper now, aren't you?" Jess, armored from head to foot and all too imposing, said nothing, but offered no further challenge, waiting. The man shrugged his shoulders and exhaled. "Very well. My name is Ness Benson. These are my comrades, Rachel Ashbury and Marik Observant." He threw a casual glance back to the blond-haired man. "And that's Orville Gracefoot."

The lump on the tall hooded man's shoulder shifted, and Jess took a step backwards, gripping tight about the hilt of his blade. "And what's that, then?" He demanded.

He was shocked when the lump seemed to unfold. That perception changed when he realized that the thing sitting there was merely unfolding its wings, and yawning as it stretched from its nap. Large ears and beady black eyes flickered, and a long curled tail with a wicked barb on the end unfolded out as well.

The green-cloaked swordsman, Ness Benson, looked to the strange winged creature casually. "Oh, him?" He offered a relaxing smile. "Why, that's just Morris."

The winged creature, dressed like a very small person, yawned again and looked about. "Are we there yet?" He muttered, still in the process of waking up.

Rachel stifled a giggle, not sure what expression the guard in front of them was wearing.

Befuddlement was the word of the day for Jess Terwilliger. He lifted up his visor, blinking at the small little beast. "I…I see." He finally managed, looking back to Ness. "And what's your business here in Lightfell?"

"Just passing through." Ness assured the man with a wink.

Finding plenty that was curious about them, but nothing sinister, Jess Terwilliger lowered his visor down and stepped aside, putting a fist to his chest. "Very well. Welcome to Lightfell, Mr. Benson. Have a pleasant stay."

"Oh, we're planning on it." Orville said gaily, taking off his feathered hat and giving an elaborate bow.

The four travelers and the curious creature named Morris passed onwards and through Lightfell's gate, into the city proper. Still a little dazed, Jess went back to stand beside Russell Decker. The older Sunrise Guardian chuckled.

"Well, now. You seemed to handle that all right, given the surprises."

"Just what was that little creature?"

"You know, I don't really have the foggiest clue." Russ responded, thinking about it for a moment. "Never seen one of those in my life before."

"Do you think I made a mistake, letting them in?"

"Now, I doubt that."

"But, that creature…" Jess argued, still not sure.

"Lad, have you ever seen a loach?" Russ interrupted with a sigh.

"A…No, what is it?"

"A few more years of guard duty at the gates, and you might see one." Russell chuckled. "You know how some wizards like to carry around pets, like owls or rats or cats?"

"Yes?"

"Well, there was a druid what came through here about a year ago, and he had a loach sitting on his rucksack, he did. Strangest little thing I ever did see, like a toad that started walking on its front legs, only with boils and mushrooms growing off of it in every direction. The thing was ugly as sin, but it was harmless, you see?"

"So in other words…I shouldn't worry so much about curious creatures trailing along with travelers."

"Likely, that little winged fellow belonged to the tall hooded one. Might have been his familiar, even, which means it was a wizard what came through here."

Russ blinked a few times, thinking for a moment and furrowing his eyebrows. "Say…I think I heard something a while ago, just a tiny little thing about a little winged thing, almost like a bat what was named Morris."

Jess Terwilliger looked to the elder Sunrise Guardian. "Eh? And what was that?"

Russell tried his best to think back on what it was. Of course, the reference had been made in passing when he had gone to the market; the crones loved to gossip, they did, and that day had been no different.

"What were their names again?" Russ asked, pursing his lips. "Morris was the little fella, and…"

"Ness Benson, Rachel…I forget her last name, and…I think he was Marik. And that Orville fellow."

"No, I don't remember hearing anything about any Orville, but the others are ringing a few bells." Russell muttered. "Something…Well, it was a good thing, that I'm sure of."

Jess rolled his eyes and dropped his visor. "Well, when you finally do figure it out, you be sure and let me know why those travelers are so important to bother you."

"It's not like I don't have the time." Russell admitted sheepishly. "We've still another hour left on our shift." The rest of the morning was quiet and uneventful for the two Guardians at Lightfell's southern gate, which gave them ample opportunity to ponder the question.

They had barely fifteen minutes left in their shift when Russell Decker remembered why the four travelers were so important. Jess Terwilliger was surprised at the tale his friend wove…

Of course, the funny thing was that it was all true.

* * *

><p><em>The Capital City of Lightfell, Samael's Lands <em>

_Mid-morning_

"The Sunrise Guardians are the protectors of Lightfell, and of King Samael." Ness explained to a curious Rachel Ashbury. "They are trained for all sorts of combat, but most of the time they are Lightfell's police force and the king's personal guard."

"What I don't get is why they insist on stomping around in all that armor all the time." Morris grumbled, his morning nap having done little to improve his mood. Of course, the trip to Lightfell had much to do with that. They had fallen into a tedium on their journey, one that the imp hoped dearly that the sights of Lightfell would break them free of.

Inside of his hood, Marik rolled his eyes. _**They're knights, Morris. Armor is fundamental to their profession.**_ The comment was not spoken, for Marik rarely chose to speak, afraid that the sound of his voice would offend people and betray his hidden nature.

Orville Gracefoot smiled as they entered an open square with a large fountain at the center of the city streets. "Aah, noble Lightfell. It has been a long time since I've set foot in this grand city." He tightened the straps of his haversack and gave his friends a sad look. "I cannot stay long, though. I fear I've procrastinated beyond reasonable bounds, and the Druids of Ashra are not known to be the most patient lot."

Rachel looked crestfallen. "You're leaving us so soon?"

The bard was apologetic. "I fear I can stay only long enough to resupply myself and use the services of the priests at the main Solarian cathedral to send my contacts a message. But I am not disappointed. I have enjoyed our time together, as brief as it has been."

Morris snorted. "Hell, Marik and I have enjoyed it too. It felt good to have a musician around. We're used to somebody always singing some lousy melody or another."

Ness thought for a moment. "Well, I don't see why we have to part ways so suddenly, Orville. While you must be on your way in haste, our own objectives could likely wait…" He gave Rachel a thoughtful glance. "And besides, we should make the most of our time together. It will likely be many months, if not years, before we meet again."

Orville thought about it, stroking at his chin. "Well, I suppose. I may as well begin by visiting the Church. Tell me, have any of you ever been to the Dawnfall Gleam's Cathedral here in Lightfell?"

Rachel, who obviously hadn't, threw a glance to Ness. The swordsman shrugged. "I'm not exactly one for grand churches, myself. Regretfully, no."

The imp let out a derisive snort. "Come on. Me, in an honest to goodness church?"

"I thought you and Marik came from a church." Rachel said curiously.

"We came from the Roadside Temple in Korleen." Morris countered. "That's actually more of an inn and outpost than it is a church, you see. The whole Traveler thing, you know?"

Orville remained unfazed, finding much to smile about. "It sounds as though it will be a new experience for all of you then!" He laughed as he led them farther in, taking them past the fountain.

Rachel tarried for a bit, looking at the wondrous town square with a nascent fascination. Ness stood away from her for a few moments before he finally entered her field of vision and smiled.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

The girl nodded slowly. "It's beautiful." She looked around, amazed by the sparkling alabaster throughout Lightfell that she could see. The city had no true walls, but it had spires standing about its perimeter, and towering white obelisks of snowy granite dotted in some kind of precision about it. "This city is more opulent than Knighthold was."

"Samael's Lands likes to claim that everyone and everything in Ashra holds its origins here, in Lightfell." Ness explained with a wink. "Depending on which story you believe about the ancient past, Lightfell was once home to all of Ashra, or the last stronghold of its people, thousands of years ago." The swordsman shrugged. "Of course, what you have to keep in mind about people from Samael's Lands is that they're very prideful of their origins, and the truth has likely been embellished over the years."

Rachel Ashbury smiled at him, pushing a few hairs out of her eyes. "Just how do you know so much about this place?"

Ness gave her a smug look, indicating there was an answer to it, but he found it more suitable to withhold the truth.

"I imagine we'll be here for a while." He said casually, looking away from her curious gaze and staring about the fountain pavilion. "It will take Marik some time to get those gloves identified, after all. So here's an idea. After Orville has concluded his business in this grand cathedral he's taking us to, and left us, I'll show you around town." He gave her one of his charming smiles, more charming than usual, she noted.

Rachel lifted an eyebrow, not entirely persuaded about the innocence of his gesture. "You'll show me around?" She asked dubiously.

Ness, his smile beginning to wane about the edges of his face, nodded again. "Yes, well…if it's all right with you, that is." He gave a shrug, trying to be nonchalant. "After all, there's only so much that we can buy."

A part of Rachel wished to refuse Ness, for she could easily sense the underlying strain in his voice…the natural curiosity and nervousness that was there simply because he was male, and he was beginning to see her as more than just another one of his traveling companions.

At the same moment as one side of her was arguing for her to end his advances, another portion responded to it. She glanced over him, as if seeing him for the first time.

Ness Benson was a good decade older than her, true enough, but despite the seemingly eternal stubble on his chin, there was a light in his eyes that indicated a spritely youth had once lived inside of his muscular frame.

The bustle of Lightfell passed around them as Rachel continued to stare at him. Unnerved from the silence, Ness laughed a little and broke her out of her trance.

"Just what are you looking for, Rachel?" Came his pleasant query. The girl shook her head and turned away from him, her face reddening a bit.

"Nothing, Ness." Which was a lie, and she knew it. She'd been looking at him to find the man inside…wondering if she could open his spirit, how beautiful it might be.

_But you can't rightly tell him that, can you?_ Came the sharp reply from her mind. Rachel sighed and took her cloak off, finding the shimmering blue garment too warm for the heat. As she put it away in her rucksack, she gave Ness a confident nod. "Well, shall we catch up with the others then?"

"I suppose." Ness said, a little deflated. "A rain check, then?"

The two strolled on, Rachel struggling to find the words, most of her excuses catching in her throat. She finally shrugged.

"I…I suppose, if there's nothing else for us to do, it would be all right." She said, thinking about it a moment longer and shrugging. After all, there wasn't any harm in a thing as simple as a day out exploring the city. It wasn't like it was a date.

Ness was just a friend, wasn't he?

Despite herself, she shivered, a gesture Ness took no notice of as they walked on to catch up with Marik, Morris, and Orville. She snuck a glance up to the stoic, yet still pleasant swordsman that had recruited her on this bizarre quest to bring a murderer-for hire to justice.

He wasn't terrible to look at. In a certain light, his rugged features could even be considered handsome.

Blushing, Rachel looked away from him and tried to keep her eyes focused on the street and crowds ahead. It beat out trying to solve the implications of her thoughts, seeing everything through the perspective of beauty and hidden, deep souls.

* * *

><p>Dawnfall Gleam's Cathedral had an overbearing name, and a size and majesty to match. With walls of soft white limestone and stonework of marble and granite, it towered above the town, dwarfed only by the spires of the royal castle in the city distance. At the top of the mighty arch fitted with stained glass windows was an emblem all too familiar to the inhabitants of Ashra; a gleaming sun looking down from on high, watchful and warm.<p>

The Cathedral was dedicated, and hallowed in service to the Shining One, the god of Terrus known as Solares. Orville and Ness nodded appreciatively, Marik and Morris said nothing. Rachel, who had kept her scarf on, tugged nervously at the frayed end. "It's enormous." She finally said, breaking the silence. Orville turned to look at her, and the girl blurted out the rest of her thought. "But a little imposing." She motioned to the artfully crafted icon at the church's arch. "Is Solares always portrayed in such a fashion?"

The bard chuckled and shrugged. "I imagine it's a far cry from the sort of churches you harken from in your distant world. And yes, usually he is. Solarians focus more on living like their god, rather than portraying him."

"Strange." The girl said, reminding herself that Calyssa's grace was with her even now, and that she shouldn't be so cowed by the towering marker of faith in front of her.

Still, not being of the faith of this deity, she wondered if it was sacrilegious for her to enter the sanctum. Orville seemed to sense the unspoken question and shook his head.

"Oh, don't worry yourself, Rachel. You don't have to worship Solares to visit this church. I myself favor Fanachlor, Mistress of the Glade, and I've received the Shining One's blessings many times in my life. They do not take offense at the affiliations of others."

"Well, that's helpful." Ness commented. He looked up one last time, absorbing in the sight. "Still, it is a grand little structure, isn't it? The oldest church in use in this section of all of Ashra, as I recall."

"Aye, for nearly 5000 years now." Orville grinned, harkening back to an old tale. He glanced in the direction of Morris and Marik. "I don't suppose you know what historical figure might be tied into the past of this place, do you?"

"Some crusty old priest who had a thing for self-sacrifice?" The imp suggested, distracted and disinterested as he slipped back into a glazed appearance.

Orville smiled thinly at that. "Not exactly." He finally said. "King Samael the First, also known as "The Uniter," had his hand in the building of this structure. Through holy magics and human sweat, they made Dawnfall's Gleam. This church stood as a beacon against the darkness then, and now it's home to some of the most experienced priests in all the land." He lifted up a finger and grinned. "Which brings us to our reason for being here."

"What are you going to have them do, whisk you away on the winds?" Ness posed, for he'd heard stories of priests and priestesses who had done such acts through the power of their faith.

"Not exactly. They shall carry something on the winds, though. My voice." Orville concluded. "I must reach my contacts, as you recall, and let them know Deshrik'venya is safely recovered. They might also be able to tell me just who Flame was."

Marik and Morris stood there quietly, the imp rubbing at his chin and considering the church. Oblivious to the conversation between Rachel, Ness, and Orville, the two argued between themselves, and found an agreement they could live with.

Marik let out a growl, and Morris' beady black eyes flickered with a glimmer of light for a moment before fading. They turned about, looking over Lightfell in silent consideration before Morris exposed his fangs in a thin smile. "Found it." He said calmly, and the silent mage nodded.

Rachel turned about. "Found what?" She asked, looking expectantly to the imp. Realizing that he'd been heard, Morris blushed a little.

"Well, er…That is to say, Marik and I just pinpointed the wizard's guild that's supposed to be here. At least, we think it is. The place positively reeks of the aether." The imp pointed with one of his wings. "About fifteen minutes' walk that way. Or two and a half by flight."

The healer folded her arms over her chest. "And why would that be so important right now? We're going with Orville inside, aren't we?"

"No. You and Ness are going inside of the church." Morris replied grimly. "I don't think I'll feel comfortable around patrons of the Shining One for a while yet." The reference was clear; after Kalen, the imp, and by extension, Marik, didn't wish further encounters. "No, we should get going to the guild anyhow. Identifying magical items is a long and exhaustive chore." Came Morris' continuation, his voice calm as Marik's words came through him. "Orville, I am sorry we will not be able to stay with you further. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The minstrel tipped his extravagant feathered hat, about to reply with a similar pleasantry. He paused for a moment, his face melting into a frown.

"Well, that's unusual. It seems that none of us will be leaving immediately." The words were phrased so distinctly that they all stared at the minstrel, wondering just what he meant. Then they heard the sound of thick metal armor bouncing along with heavy footsteps, and followed Orville's gaze to a small squad of knights approaching them. A detachment of the Sunrise Guardians, by the sashes across their chests.

They came to a halt fifteen feet away, and their leader advanced out, looking over Ness and his entourage with minor fascination.

Orville, wondering what exactly was taking place, stepped forward with a smile. "Good morning, officer. Is there something we can do for you?" He asked, hoping to walk out of the situation intact.

The knight gave Orville a discerning look before focusing back to Ness. "Ness Benson?"

Warily, the green-cloaked swordsman nodded. "That is my name, yes. Why do you ask for it?"

"You have been requested for an audience with his Excellency, the Baron Denwyr Lastagorn." The main said shortly. "You, and your companions."

Ness frowned. "We're not in any sort of trouble, are we?"

"Much the reverse." The leader of the troupe of Guardians said, giving a weak smile as an afterthought. "He wishes to thank you, he said."

Ness glanced to his allies, and they all thought the same question; _Just what had they done to merit gratitude and thanks from a noble they had never met in their lives?_

Orville, in his own quixotic fashion, found a gleaming nugget with which to smile mirthfully, understanding poring into the corners of his mind as he finally let out a small chuckle.

Ness whirled on him. "I don't suppose you'd mind telling me what's so funny?"

"Oh, it's just priceless. Come on, you don't know?"

"Now you're just teasing us." Morris countered dejectedly. "Come on. What's going on here?"

"Simply put, your deeds are becoming the gossip of Ashra." Orville said, tapping against his wrist and grinning all the wider, like a cat who knows just enough to be bothersome.

"Do you mean to tell us that we're becoming famous?" Morris said, and by his tone, it was clear that the little imp meant the question not out of joyous surprise, but alarming realization.

Orville gave Morris a nod of his head. "Like it or not, you're accomplishing some amazing things with these people. Fame is just a part of it." He tipped his hat to Ness. "Well, I had best let you get to your business. My own waits inside."

Ness looked to the men standing in full armor, waiting for them to come along. "I suppose." He said, addressing them. "Very well, we shall come with you then."

Marik began to growl, and the imp sitting on his shoulder took up into the air, grinning. "Well, you can go on ahead. Visiting some nobleman wasn't what we had in mind for today. We've got other things to take care of first."

Marik vanished from sight, enveloped by the spell of invisibility he innately knew. Morris Redtail soon did so as well, chuckling.

Orville, Ness and Rachel blinked, wondering just what the two had in mind. The bard laughed.

"I meet such interesting people." He shook his head and began to walk up the steps of the majestic church, his last farewells said.

Rachel came up beside Ness, recovered just a bit. "It'll be all right." She assured him with a smile. "I have a feeling those two will show up when they're ready. For now, though, we should go see what this baron wants, hmm?"

Ness Benson scratched at his hair, giving Orville only the barest glance before turning to smile at the Calyssan. "If you insist."

They fell in step behind the Guardians, being led to the noble in question.

"Do you think we'll ever see him again?" Rachel said quietly. Ness blinked a few times, realizing as he glanced down into her eyes that she meant Orville, and not Marik.

"I imagine his travels take him everywhere." He said softly.

"Oh." Rachel answered, saddened by it. Ness uttered a mental curse at himself, thinking how he might make her smile again.

"But…" He began, reaching for an answer. She glanced up at him, curious as to what he'd say. Ness smacked his lips together once, smiling up at the sky. "But I imagine when we do see him again, he'll just bring more trouble for us."

It was a little thoughtless. It certainly wasn't consoling. In spite of that, Ness's comment still somehow caused a smile to break over her face, making the parting from one of her only friends in the lonely world of Terrus a little easier to deal with.

It implied Ness did expect to see him again. It implied that meeting would carry some degree of annoyance. And it was utterly a Ness thing to say. She giggled, and Ness's heart started to beat again, relieved the comment had worked.

"He probably will." She agreed, the wind blowing the ends of her scarf out behind her. They kept going forward, and Ness' hand found its way to her shoulder again.

She didn't brush it off, deciding to give it a chance. After all, she thought to herself, it was turning out to be a good day.

And in her experience, good days only got better.

* * *

><p>The sun was full in the sky, and the Grey Shadow hated that. Even with tattered shrouds of black fabric and his form-fitting bodysuit to protect him, he still felt the burning rays. That was one downside of the minor illusions he'd learned in his trade; they offered no protection against the elements. Anyone who looked at him would see what they expected to, just another man dressed in simple clothing meandering along. Only the most discerning eyes, trained in the use of magesight, would even detect the faintest glimmer of fallacy. There wasn't a soul around him that would be able to make out that it was the Grey Shadow, who was calmly strolling through Lightfell.<p>

He found a dark alleyway as he moved into the northwestern district of the town, the seedy part of Lightfell. He nearly sighed in relief as the relative darkness claimed him, and he moved as far back into it as he could, slumping against the wall. A pair of beggars glanced up at him casually before slumping back into their stupors.

The sun always burned, a nuisance that kept his most productive hours firmly rooted when most people slept. That fact limited his mobility, but fit perfectly in his role as a killer for hire. The darkness of Lightfell's alley was an ironic reprieve, though he had little care for irony.

He cared even less for the first beggar in the alley who let out a tired grunt and picked himself up from a pile of rags, stumbling along the wall as if recovering from a drunken stupor.

The Grey Shadow seemed a harmless man, wanting only to sit and rest away from the bustle of other people, but behind that illusion and his skeletal mask, his eyes narrowed into slits.

He knew the deception for what it was, and normally he would treat it with a sick amusement. But he was tired, and he had a purpose here. That meant the 'beggar' would regret his decision.

Closer the vagrant came, coughing into a fist and doubling over close to him, nearly falling on top of the Grey Shadow. Most normal people would either shy away from the man or help him back up, concerned.

The assassin did neither. Showing no patience at all, he caught the wandering man's hand before it could reach his moneypouch and jerked. Hard. The revealed thief let out a surprised gasp as he was thrown across the alley, smashing into the wall of the opposing building before he could recover.

Underneath the illusionary disguise, the Grey Shadow clenched his hand into a fist, the joints cracking rewardingly.

_"Bad choice." _Came his rasping voice, clearly unmatched with his appearance. The thief gave him a wide-eyed glance, slowly lifting himself up and staring down at his mark. The Grey Shadow looked back at him and shook his head. _"Having your friend attack me would be a worse choice."_

At the back of the alley, the second 'beggar' looked up in surprise. A loaded crossbow barely visible under his rags wavered, moving off target.

The first thief narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

_"A shadow." _Came the weary reply. It was a little joke, very little, and one that the thief didn't catch. Something clicked in the Grey Shadow's mind, and he nodded his head towards the second thief. _"Tell him to put that toy away."_

"And if I have him shoot you anyway?" Annoyed as he was, the assassin might have just let the two brash fools try their ambush, just so he could kill them and get in a meal before his much-needed rest.

Common sense won over, as it always did against his baser instincts. _"Then you two will have a very dead client."_

The first thief pushed his tattered hood back, revealing dark brown, well-kept hair. "Client?" He said accusingly. "We don't take on clients."

Not one to barter, the Shadow pulled out a handful of gold dragons and threw them out away from him. They clattered noisily on the street, catching the two thieves' eyes.

The Grey Shadow didn't wait for an answer. _"If you have friends, bring them."_ He said, his wheezing breath gurgling near the end of the sentence. _"And meet me here an hour before nightfall. You'll get the rest of your payment then." _

Picking up the coins, the first thief slowly began to nod his head. "Just one thing…What sort of job is it?"

_"A murder." _The Grey Shadow said simply.

Then he vanished from view, illusion and all. Alarmed, the first thief wandered over and waved his hand through the air where the seemingly normal-looking man had been.

He shuddered as his comrade tucked the crossbow away and walked over to him.

"Do you think he was serious?" Came the question from the second thief.

Fingering the coins as he tucked them away, the first beggar nodded his head. "Go find the others. Tell them we've got a new assignment."

The two vanished from the alley, not once looking behind them.

Back in the farthest corner, barely visible in a growing darkness, the Grey Shadow manifested himself back into view. Giving into his fatigue, and confident that he would not be bothered inside of the protective shadows he had woven, he closed his eyes and let himself slip into his meditative trance. It was the closest thing to sleep he needed.

He had no doubt that those two average thieves would be back later tonight. And that was good.

His mind wandered with thoughts of the ambush and murder of the troublesome mage in the Cursed Blade's party…and how tantalizing an experience it would be to throw back that hood and see his head before severing it.

The Grey Shadow had nothing but pleasant dreams.

* * *

><p><em>The Mansion of Baron Lastagorn<em>

Ness and Rachel were brought before an impressive house, nearly at the end of the well-kept cobblestone road that led up to the gates protecting Lightfell's center. Beyond the Sunrise Guardians standing watch at the gates, Ness could make out the spiraling road that led up the hill and to the castle where King Samael the…well, the most recent King Samael, he thought to himself, for he never could keep track of the number, sat and ruled over all of Samael's Lands.

And whoever this noble was, he lived just shy of it.

The two Guardians that had been escorting them motioned to the mansion's front door. "Go on ahead. His servants will direct you from here."

"We appreciate it." Ness said to them, looking over to Rachel. The girl, more accustomed to city life, it seemed, smiled brightly. She nodded as well, but kept her thoughts to herself. The two fully armored knights clipped their heels together and gave their salute, a fist slammed against their breastplate. They turned and marched off, other places to be and other tasks to see to.

Ness walked up to the front door, but did not knock, pursing his lips in thought. Rachel came up beside him and looked at him. "Why are you waiting?" She asked, his hesitation a curious sight.

Ness shrugged. "The Guardians said we weren't in any trouble, but…"

Rachel nodded, realizing the thought. "But you're not sure if they weren't withholding the entire story."

"Yes, precisely."

"Well." Rachel exhaled, pulling her scarf off and folding it carefully, "If you are in trouble, I'll just say I don't know you." It was an unusual thing for her to say, and so Ness turned, looking at her in wonder.

Then he caught her cheeky smile, and matched it with his own. "Now you're just playing with me."

"If it makes you start moving again, then yes." She replied. "Come on already, Ness. Just knock, and let's be done with this."

So Ness did. A few seconds passed after he pulled his hand back from the heavy iron knocker at the door, a man in a bright red tunic opened it, glancing at them calmly.

"May I help you?" He asked, polite but indifferent.

"Well, yes." Ness began, a little uncomfortable. "I'm Ness Benson, and this is…"

"Baron Lastagorn has been expecting you." The man interrupted, stepping aside. "Come on in."

Ness looked to Rachel, hopeful. "Here goes nothing." He said, allowing her to venture in first.

The mansion was an impressive display of finery, with rugs of bold colors and the heads of countless trophies mounted on the walls. The red-shirted servant walked them along, casual and reserved through it all.

A little unnerved by his poise and the silence, Rachel spoke up. "This is a beautiful house. Do you enjoy it here?"

"It is an honor to serve my lord." Their guide said, his tone so soft she wondered for a moment if he had spoken at all. She ran a hand along her arm absentmindedly, then fell silent. Ness noticed how perturbed she was, and cleared his throat, looking up to the various stuffed heads of creatures mounted as decoration.

"The Baron has quite a few trophies."

"He enjoyed his sport." Came the calm reply. "He was quite the skilled hunter."

"Was?" Ness queried, and received a cold backwards stare for his trouble. The redshirted servant pursed his lips, but kept silent. He turned back around and kept walking forward.

Thankfully, the mansion was not too expansive, and they reached a set of ornately carved redwood doors. The servant knocked and waited a moment before opening the doors.

"Milord?" He ventured cautiously.

"Yes, Miles, what is it?"

"Mr. Benson and his companion have arrived."

"Good, good." Came the reply, echoing from within the yet hidden room. Ness and Rachel tried to crane their heads for a peek inside, but the wary servant narrowed the door, preventing their efforts. "Well, did you let them in?"

"I did, sir."

"And they're with you right now?"

"They are, sir."

"Then open the door and let them come in. I didn't have them brought here to stare at my walls all day." Came the irritated reply. The butler grimaced for a moment, but restrained himself and opened the door.

"You may enter." He said stiffly, walking through the doorway. Rachel looked to Ness, who fingered at the edge of his cloak and motioned forward.

"Ladies first, I believe."

"Only if you're a gentleman." She countered, wrinkling her nose in a smile.

"And you think I'm not one?" He rebutted, feigning hurt shock. Rachel stifled a giggle and went in, with Ness closing behind them.

"His eminence, the Baron Denwyr Lastagorn." The servant announced as they came inside of the study. They were surrounded by open windows and bookshelves with bound texts seemingly from every area of study. The baron was a man in his fifties, with diminishing height and peppered black hair. He held himself with a regal posture, and even in the refined, bold green and blue clothes of nobility, had a hardness and tone to his body that indicated he had once been quite active. Staring out with cool brown eyes, he nodded to his servant.

"Very well, Miles." He glanced to Ness and Rachel. "Mr. Benson, and…Miss Ashbury, wasn't it?" The girl nodded, a little surprised that she was known. "I thank you for coming here. Is there anything I might offer either of you for refreshment; some wine, perhaps coffee?"

Rachel shook her head. Ness waved off the offer. "Thank you, milord, but no."

The Baron scrutinized them a little deeper, his eyes cutting into them. "Isn't there supposed to be two more in your party, Mr. Benson? A mage and his winged familiar?"

"Marik and Morris, you mean." Ness said, doing his best not to correct the man and offend him. "Unfortunately, they had other business to see to today, at the wizard's guild."

"Aah, yes." The Baron nodded sagely for a moment, then glanced over to his butler. "That will do for now, Miles. I will ring if I need you."

The red-shirted butler disappeared quickly, closing the door to the Baron's study.

Baron Lastagorn motioned to the elaborate semicircle of seats arranged in front of his great desk. "Please, have a seat."

Ness marveled at the feel of the cushioned leather of his chair, but did not allow himself to become distracted. "Baron Lastagorn, I fear you have me at a disadvantage." He admitted. "How did you come to know of us?"

The older man smiled at that as he eased himself into his own seat, and folded his hands on his desk. "News of your company's exploits have traveled all over Ashra, Mr. Benson. Tell me, do you remember doing away with a troublesome bandit camp in Crannogh Heights some time ago?"

A light clicked on in the back of Ness's mind, and he found himself looking to Rachel for confirmation. The girl nodded at him, just as surprised.

"Well, yes actually. But why would that be of such interest to you?"

"One of the people you rescued from their clutches was a nobleman returning from vacation in Samael's Lands, Duke Aeryn Fisch." Baron Lastagorn noted calmly. "He had spent his holiday with me, and I had been worried when I received no word from him. When it finally did come, he spoke of a group of three adventurers and a curious winged creature who had come to his rescue." The Baron nodded at them, smiling at Rachel. "It seems he wasn't lying about the beauty of your healer, either. And I thought the soft life had made his eyes as fat and useless as the rest of him."

Rachel blushed and turned away. "You flatter me, Mr…I mean, Baron Lastagorn."

"For the time being, we can do away with titles." Baron Lastagorn said dismissively, rolling his eyes. "Every day, I hear people call me that. You may call me Mr. Lastagorn. It would be refreshing to hear."

Ness nodded, a little unbalanced at the noble's words, but pleasantly unbalanced. He remembered Duke Fisch; the man had been grating, overbearing, a portly bumbler who was too accustomed to his station. The noble who sat before them, a quaint smile on his leathery face, was everything Fisch had not been.

"And how is Duke Fisch doing, anyhow?" Rachel inquired, eager to spark the conversation. "We've not been able to hear the latest news for a long time now."

"Oh, he's fine." Denwyr Lastagorn replied. "Back in his roost and sitting comfortably in his luxury." He rolled his eyes. "A far cry from the fellow who used to ride with me when we were boys, out to conquer the world while our fathers conducted business." He separated his hands, setting his palms flat against the desk. "That is how I came to know of you, then."

"So, you wished to thank us?"

"For rescuing him?" Mr. Lastagorn said curiously, before giving his head a discerning shake. "If it were only that simple, I would have sent Miles to thank you with a token sum for your goodwill." His brown eyes glinted with something dangerous. "But Miles is not out there. You are in here, sitting in my study, talking to me." He seemed to straighten up at that, and the humor in his voice drained away. "So let me ask you. Why are you pursuing the Grey Shadow?"

The question was so unexpected, so bluntly stated that Rachel's face blanched and Ness nearly reached for his sword out of a sudden paranoia.

"Excuse me?" The green-cloaked swordsman answered, clearly perturbed.

Unblinking, Baron Lastagorn stared back. "I don't need to repeat myself, do I?" He said, making it clear he did not wish to.

A little helpless, Rachel looked to Ness. The swordsman chewed on his lower lip for a few moments, then spoke in a guarded and measured volume. "Some time ago, the assassin known as the Grey Shadow was responsible for the death of a noble in Sorvindal known as Dunsten Carmichael. We seek to bring an end to the Grey Shadow's killings once and for all."

"Of course, the bounty of 3000 gold is nothing to sniff at, either." The noble said slowly. "Such wealth could make a man in want of nothing for a very long time, and fools have done more for less countless times over."

Not sure if that comment had been an insult, Ness diverted the line of questioning. "Just what interest do you have in the Grey Shadow?"

Denwyr Lastagorn dodged the question, airily staring about his study to a row of heads of various deadly animals he had paid to have mounted.

"You know, back in my younger days, I considered myself something of an adventurer as well." He remarked casually. "Of course, mine was a little different from the usual reasons; fame? No. Wealth? A noble worries not about such paltry matters. For me, the only motivation was exhilaration; the thrill that comes when ones' sword slices through the neck of the bear or boar or wolf that was moments away from ending your life and surviving to risk it all the next day." He motioned about the study. "My youth was crafted of such idyllic travels. There was always a more dangerous animal, a more devastating creature to struggle against, tame, defeat. I began to collect the heads of my kills. In accordance with society's dictates, I had them mounted, so that those who visited me in my home would know of the brave deeds I had accomplished, the dangers I had faced."

He paused for a moment, and the nostalgic fire in his brown eyes faded as he continued to stare at his trophies. "But then, a day came when I stopped going out to hunt. The ecstacy of the kill faded, and I found that I had surrounded myself with the partial corpses of all the beasts who had been unfortunate enough to be tracked by my guides." Something bitter crossed his face, wrinkling his forehead for just a glancing moment. "It no longer became fashionable to take the heads of your kills."

The Baron finally turned and looked to Ness, seeing the first glimmers of recognition dance across the still vibrant swordsman's face. "And I imagine you could tell me why."

"The Grey Shadow." Ness murmured, the words coming so fast he had hardly thought them. No other answer made sense, in retrospect. There could be no other answer except the vile and perverse murderer they pursued.

Lastagorn nodded. "Precisely." He closed his eyes and leaned back into his chair, concentrating. "The Grey Shadow has left a darkness over Ashra for longer than I would care to have it. But he is dangerous and cunning. Only fools chase after him." He waved a hand at them, eyes still closed. "End this foolish endeavor, Mr. Benson. End it now."

It was almost a slap across the face, Rachel realized. Ness' openmouthed stare seemed to indicate he saw it exactly as that, if not worse. "What?" Came his reply, flabbergasted.

Denwyr Lastagorn folded his hands together, fingertips aligned and rapping against one another. He opened his cold brown eyes, staring to the man. "If it's a matter of the reward, then just say so, and I will have Miles fetch you the exact amount from my own coffers."

In a less dramatic moment, Rachel might have been able to step back and piece together some reasonable excuses as to why the formerly amiable man would be so stubbornly blunt about their mission. This was not one of these times, however, as Ness was making perfectly clear.

He stood up, face red and shoulders tight. "How dare you." He spat out. "How _dare_ you make such an offer! It's not about the money, Lastagorn! It's about…"

Ness hesitated for a moment, and the glowering noble tilted his head to the side. "Revenge?" Lastagorn suggested icily. "Duty? Honor? Tell me, Mr. Benson. Tell me why you are so obsessed with this one man, that you would chase him for years without success."

Ness' vehement anger went stone silent at the last sentence, and Lastagorn arched an eyebrow, noting his personal triumph. Rachel had heard Ness mention that in passing long ago, back when they first joined up in Westshire, but hearing the Baron repeat it shook her.

"I'm not without my own sources, Mr. Benson." Lastagorn said, still cryptic. "So tell me. Just why do you chase him?"

His throat was dry, Ness realized as he tried to cough. Forcing himself to salivate enough to swallow and wet his throat, he bought himself the time to think of an answer.

For all that he hated the Grey Shadow, for all the waking hours he spent wanting that assassin dead, those were not the reasons Lastagorn wanted to hear, nor the ones that would give credible explanation.

Ness thought back to when he had first begun chasing the assassin, eight long years before and half a lifetime away. There was only one answer he could give that wouldn't sound false and empty. And the more he pondered it, wondering if he should indeed say that one reason, he found himself noting that anything less or more would be an offense, both to himself and to the sensibilities of those around him.

So there, in the study of Baron Denwyr Lastagorn of Lightfell, the veteran swordsman known as Ness Benson, "The Cursed Blade", shrugged his shoulders and spoke his mind.

"It was a job." He uttered, resolve in every syllable. "And until I finish it, I can't move on."

The silence hung in the air, full, deep, and with neither man speaking.

Pondering over those words, Denwyr finally broke a soft smile and shook his peppered-salt hair. "I anticipated all the answers you might use, save that one."

Ness Benson shrugged, and the Baron resumed his thoughtful posture.

"So have you found any clues? Any whatsoever to where he is going, what his plans are?"

Ness nodded. "As soon as we are all ready, we are set to depart west for Istus. The Grey Shadow is rumored to make his home there, and we are on his trail."

The swordsman expected that information to surprise the Baron, but Lastagorn merely nodded his head, for it was information repeated.

"Anyone able to rub two coins together may learn what country he lives in." Lastagorn explained. "Most are not so crazy as to try and chase him."

Ness said nothing to that, and the noble shook his head.

"The Grey Shadow is just a job to you, then? There is no other motivation, no reason for why you are doing this?"

"Ashra would be a lot better off without him." Ness said, finding resolve in that statement. "What better reason would I…Would we need?" He corrected himself. Rachel smiled at that, for it was such a thoughtful thing to say, and she agreed with it. She had never seen the Grey Shadow, never met him, but the assassin, by reputation and deed alone was a monster that needed to be put away.

The Baron slowly blinked his eyes to that, pondering the pair before him. "Then there is something that moves your heart beyond duty, eh?"

"Perhaps." Ness thought, looking for the right word. He settled on it with a grim nod. "Justice." He turned it about, looking to the Baron. "We have answered your questions, obscure as they are. So now, grant me some answers to my own, Mr. Lastagorn." The noble waved his hand approvingly, and Ness continued. "Just why do you have such an interest in the Grey Shadow? Why would you warn us away from our pursuit?"

The old man considered that for a moment, and looked up to the ceiling again. "Tell me, Mr. Benson. The noble that the Grey Shadow killed in Sorvindal. You said his name earlier."

"Dunsten Carmichael." Ness answered curiously. "Yes, so?"

"I don't suppose you took the time to investigate his family lines?"

"He was the brother-in law of the monarch of Sorvindal, King Lionel Heartsblood." Came the reply.

"Aah, then you did not go far enough." Lastagorn's said wearily. "His sister is married to the king, and so forfeited the name Carmichael. But Dunsten's mother had a different name than Carmichael as well once…for she is not of Sorvindal, originally."

Ness sat there, wondering curiously just where this all was leading. It was Rachel who reached the right conclusion, looking to the tired and sad old man and establishing the link.

"Your name." She said, drawing the Baron's eyes to her. "Dunsten's mother was a Lastagorn!"

The Baron sat immobile for a few moments, then broke into a smile and slowly nodded his head. "She was." He answered wearily. "Dunsten's mother was my sister, and he was my nephew."

Ness' jaw dropped. "But then…"

"You wish justice, Mr. Benson." Came the interruption from the weary noble. He lifted a sleeve up and pointed at him. "So do I."

He swiveled his chair about partially, looking out through one of his massive windows that lit up the entire study. "I have no children of my own. My own wife died in childbirth, and the baby was born too soon to live. Dunsten, the boy of my sister Ophelia, was a ray of sunshine. We shared the same interests, pursued the same hobbies." He smiled sadly, lost in a sea of his thoughts. "I took him out on his first hunts, became a second father to him when his real one was too distracted by matters of state. As versed and as talented as he was with money and finance, he had the same spark and love of adventure that I did." The smile faded. "And now he is dead."

_And now he is dead._ The sentence hung there in the reverent silence of the study, Ness and Rachel both unwilling to break it.

The tired old Baron closed his eyes and breathed out, as if a great weight had been taken off of his shoulders. "There are evils in this world that defy the civilization we boast of. The Grey Shadow is an assassin. Somebody paid for my nephew's death, and now the king of Sorvindal pays for the Grey Shadow's. And you came to the summons." Denwyr shook his head at the thought, leaning back in his seat. "Mr. Benson, I am glad that there is more to your quest than just another assignment. Because if you had only told me that you were pursuing him for the bounty upon his head, I would have told you to stop."

"And why is that?" Came Ness' querulous tone.

Denwyr Lastagorn turned back about to face them, all sadness evaporated from his cold features. "The best priests of Solares have tried to divine the Shadow's location, his presence. All have failed, repulsed by the evil of his aura and the power that protects him." He warned. "A heart filled only with greed cannot hope to stand against that. Only noble spirits, those beyond reproach and baser motivations, can hope to stand against him and win."

Rachel absorbed it all, then nodded with a quiet, but determined resolve. "We've faced a lot together, Mr. Lastagorn. And we won't stop until the Grey Shadow is defeated. Ness' heart is noble and true, make no mistake. I've seen it in his eyes, and felt it, as well."

Ness glanced at her sideways, not moving his head, but stunned at her sincerity. She emboldened him, and the swordsman nodded to the noble whose study they sat in.

"We're not quitting. And the Grey Shadow will be stopped." He thought for a moment longer, then reached for his rucksack, unslinging it from underneath his cloak.

Both Rachel and Denwyr wondered just what he was looking for, shuffling about the inside of his bag. Rachel recognized the item immediately after Ness produced it, setting the ornate circlet of precious metals on the Baron's desk.

Ness looked up to the noble, his blazing blue eyes determined. "He's taken too much already."

Gingerly, for he could see the name, and Sorvindal's sigil engraved on the circlet, Denwyr Lastagorn picked up the headpiece that had once belonged to his nephew, Dunsten Carmichael. His hands trembled as he rolled it in his grip, shutting his eyes tight.

"He has indeed." Came the man's strained reply, broken as he kept himself from crying. That could not keep him from closing his eyes.

Sitting beside Ness, Rachel reached a hand over to his, her gloved hand squeezing gently. She met his surprise with a confident nod, and Ness found himself giving her a smile in return.

She believed in him. She believed in all of them, and their ability to defeat the Grey Shadow. All their experiences had led up to this moment, and enthralled, Ness found himself looking into a face that wasn't afraid.

"The Grey Shadow will be stopped." Ness Benson promised. The Baron looked up to him, searching for any sign of hesitation on his part.

But there was none, and there came none. Ness looked to Baron Lastagorn and gave one nod of his head. "He will not kill again. We will stop him."

That promise came with such force, such grave grit, that the noble finally nodded his head. "I believe you." He said, his throat dry. "I don't know why, but…"

It was Ness' eyes, he would tell himself later. Those steely blue eyes, unbending, unchanging, focused.

Baron Lastagorn shook his head and looked away from Ness, too cowed. "I believe you." He repeated softly.

Rachel accepted the answer with a nod, then spoke again. "So, Mr. Lastagorn, why did you bring us here? Just for that?"

"I wanted to make sure of the strength of your resolve." Denwyr explained, finding it easy to stare at the beautiful young woman beside the swordsman. "The tales of your quest to find and defeat the Grey Shadow are by now all over Ashra. While he has killed many men, he also has his allies as well. Where you go, you will have to rely on each other, your own strengths. If you were not ready, I would feel guilty for letting you go."

He pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up, opening a large drawer. "But now that I know you are strong of will and purpose, I can send you with my blessings. And something else."

The first thing he removed was a small purse of coins, which he tossed to Ness in a lazy arc. The second took more time, however.

From beneath his massive desk, he pulled out an ornate sword. A small pearl laid in the pommel, and the sheath was decorated in small carnelians. Holding it reverently, he set it down before them and took a step back.

Ness looked up at him, curious. "You're giving us a sword?"

"I'm giving _you_ a sword, Mr. Benson." Came Denwyr Lastagorn's soft reply. "One that I was never able to present to my nephew."

Startled at the revelation, Ness reached a hand towards it tentatively. It looked like a broadsword, he thought; larger than his longsword, but stronger. "Are you sure that this is all right?"

"Just take it." Lastagorn snapped. "Would I have pulled it out if I didn't want you to have it?"

Chastened, Ness drew it out of its scabbard. His eyes marveled as the long shimmering blade seemed to hum, shining with a light all its own. "By the gods." He breathed. "It's magical."

Denwyr nodded, tired. "I had it made for Dunsten. His birthday was only three weeks from today, and I was looking forward to presenting it to him. But Dunsten will never be able to use it now." He motioned at Ness. "It can do more, you know."

Unfamiliar with the feel and shimmer of magic, Ness had to ask. "Such as?"

"Speak its name, and let it tell you itself." The noble said calmly. "_Brightflame."_

Holding it in both hands, Ness felt a sudden force shimmer within the shining blade, vibrating through his palms. Astounded at it, he looked to Lastagorn, who threw a dismissive gesture at him. "You must speak its name for it to work. It will only answer the call of the one who holds it."

Ness had never held a magical sword, much less been given one. It was intimidating at first, but he calmed his nerves. It was just a sword. Stronger, to be sure, but a sword nonetheless.

And Ness was a swordsman, through and through. He squeezed the hilt of the broadsword in both hands and thought hard, speaking its name. "Brightflame." He said solemnly.

The blade ignited in fire, eliciting a gasp from Rachel. Ness could feel the flames rolling over the steel, and though it was warm, it did not burn his hands, or even scald his face when he brought it close. With the flames willowing about it, it glowed.

He uttered its name again and the fires died away. Marveling at it for only a moment longer, Ness slipped it back into the encrusted scabbard.

Grateful, and still a little taken aback, Ness looked to the Baron. "How much do I owe you for this?"

"You owe me nothing." Denwyr Lastagorn replied. "All I ask is that you finish what you have started. Find and destroy the Grey Shadow."

He walked from behind his desk to stand beside it. "And when you find him, use Brightflame to end his life." The old man bowed his head. "That request isn't for my sake, it's for Dunsten's. He would have wanted his sword used to bring such justice."

Ness unclasped his cloak and strapped the broadsword across his back. "He will be remembered, I promise you."

The Baron nodded to Ness, finding no more words left for the swordsman. He nodded politely to Rachel, offering the young Calyssan a smile.

"If I were younger, I would come with you. I had quite a taste for the girls when I adventured." She blushed at that, and Denwyr laughed. "Worry not. Old men like myself appreciate a woman's beauty, but we resign that it is beyond our reach."

He straightened his posture and put back on his solemn face. "Go. Go and put an end to him. Until my nephew's death, the Grey Shadow was an obscure myth that only terrified the corrupt. Ashra does not need legends of evil men like him frightening innocents."

Denwyr Lastagorn gave one last bow and turned about, staring towards his window. Recognizing the dismissal, Ness retied his cloak and led Rachel out.

Only when they were out of the mansion did Ness speak. "You know, I didn't expect that."

"That he would give you a sword that makes its own fire?" Rachel asked.

"No." Ness said, proud as he was to carry it. Pride was not on his mind, though. "That there are others who wish to see his terror ended." He looked at her, slowly gaining his smile back. "It gives me strength."

He hefted his shoulder, noting the hilt of the sword called Brightflame that poked above his tattered and burned green cloak. "And this gives me courage."

Rachel gave one of her giggles that she used when she found something funny. It was endearing in a fashion, for it brought levity without bravado, and were so tiny as to almost be missed. "If you didn't have courage before, then I'd like to know what you've been running on so far."

At that moment, Ness became keenly aware of his empty stomach, for it growled at him. Sweeping his cloak aside, he gave Rachel a smile. "Hope, I think." He motioned towards the street. "Midday is nearly upon us, and I don't know about you, but I could use a meal."

Rachel thought for a moment, pondering over the concept. "You know, I don't really eat big meals." She began warily, but Ness waved off the rebuttal.

"You can order whatever you want. My treat." He said it so plainly, that for a moment she nearly accepted out of graciousness. Then she remembered that Ness had become attracted to her, and that he probably saw it as an opportunity for a date.

Marik and Morris were at the wizard's guild, and would likely be gone for a long while, busy with their work. Until night, she really had nothing to do, and she was still worn out from Kalen and the walk to Lightfell, which eliminated potionsmaking out of hand.

She took another look at Ness Benson; Even with his ruined cloak, he seemed regal with his longsword and dagger off of his belt, and the hilt of Brightflame jutting out behind his head. More importantly, he was open, gentle, and a friend.

Again, she thought of what kind of beauty the swordsman might possess. Behind that face of his, did he truly have the same strength and resolve he demonstrated? True, he had been thrilled with their journey, steadfast for many days. She also remembered a time, back when they had first set out, when there had been an uneasy sadness in him.

Westshire seemed so far away, as did her fellow Calyssans. She felt a pang of guilt for them, reminding herself that she still had to make sure a portion of the riches she earned on the journey her goddess had put her on made it back to their hands.

Those thoughts were meant for another time. She cleared her vision, looking up to the more experienced and mature swordsman who glanced upon her with true adoration.

A part of her still felt that she wasn't ready to begin looking for another relationship so soon after she and Parwyn had split ways. The other part of her, the part that was more indoctrinated with the teachings of the Rosequeen reminded her that beauty, and the fulfillment of life's joys could not be gained by hesitation. Occasionally, one needed to take a chance.

So she did.

"All right." She agreed shyly, nodding her head. "But you'll have to find a suitable restaurant, Ness. I don't know this town like you do."

Triumphant in his opening gambit, the swordsman grinned. "Oh, I think I know a place…"

* * *

><p><em>The Bluestaff Mages' Guild<em>

_Lightfell_

For a time, it seemed that the arrival of Marik and Morris at the wizard's guild would not be welcomed. The Sorceror's appearance and Morris' presence both spoke of a sort of evil, and the man at the door was less than polite. Thankfully, another mage had chosen that moment to approach the doors, and had prepared the proper divination spells for the day, so they were able to see that Marik and Morris were of a more benevolent outlook. They had been let in, and from there, Marik had begun to conduct his business.

The Sorceror considered his own arcane talents a matter of personal pride; having to prepare spells, to try and remember and recite formulas _precisely_, was a frustrating business. Most wizards, he had discovered through his training at the Roadside Temple and now confirmed in this place, were a snooty, grouchy lot, smug in their abilities and dismissive of others. Being a Sorceror meant he did not need to spend endless minutes upon minutes of a day looking through dusty tomes to learn the spells he needed, for he simply _had magic_, and cast it as he willed. Though he was not a master of any particular subset of spellcasting, he thought himself the stronger for it.

Of course, if his strength was his ability to summon his magic at will, his weakness was that what he didn't oftentimes proved useful. So while two of the wizards of the Bluestaff Guild (Named, Marik recalled from a passing bard through his temple home once, for the distinctive color of their robes and their favored tool of arcane artifice) busied themselves with identifying the spellcrafted leather gauntlets that the ex-druid Flame had worn, Marik casually flipped through one of the reference spellbooks they had given him with his Sorceror's hand. The eldritch fingers turning the pages over the list that he and Morris were focused on.

Occasionally, he would find a spell that caught his eye, and he would have Morris write down a rudimentary description of its effect and manner of casting. It wasn't a scroll, exactly, as much as it was notes for later. He had grown a lot since his first days of spellcrafting, and he knew that if he continued, he would instinctively come to understand other, and more powerful, spells.

He was so absorbed with his writing, in fact, that his usually acute hearing did not detect the man coming up from behind him.

"I see you are learning much from our library." Came a good natured voice. Marik paused his work and had Morris look up to the man. While he couldn't see through the imp's eyes, their usual method of mental description and message would suffice.

Behind Marik, one of the leaders of the wizard's guild waited expectantly. He had a gray beard and a twinkle in his eye, but a cautious expression on his face, wondering just what the visiting mage was up to.

Morris translated the response. "Well, there's much to learn."

The elder spellshaper, leaning a bit on his tall blue staff, harrumphed at that. "I see. We usually charge a fee for spellbook transcriptions…"

"These aren't for any spellbook." Came Morris' quick reply, mirroring what Marik would have said anyhow. "Just…notes."

The elder wizard's curiosity bloomed a bit at that, but he kept it to himself. "I see."

Eager to change the topic, Marik directed his imp companion to pose another question. "How goes the work on those leather gauntlets we brought in?"

"I have two of our students working on it as we speak, but item auguries are time consuming." Said the elder mage. "Unless you were willing to pay the difference for a more powerful augur's services?"

It had cost Marik a sizable amount to begin with to have the guild determine the function of Flame's magical possession, and even with the split from their riches taken from Fenderson's Pass, Marik was not eager to throw a third of it away just so he could escape the guild a few hours sooner.

He shook his head and the imp sighed. "No thanks. We'll stick with the simple version."

"Very well." The Bluestaff wizard glanced about. "So is there anything else you might be interested in, Mr. Observant? An enchantment for an article of yours, perhaps some scrolls for later use?"

As much as the mention of scrolls caught his interest, Marik fought off the urge to grow excited. He could tell by the tone of the man's voice that he was fishing for a sale, and if he determined what Marik was interested in, then he would do everything in his power to raise the price.

"Perhaps later." Morris said casually. Another idea from Marik almost made the imp smile, but he stifled it by coughing into a wing. "I do have something else I'd like you to take a look at, though."

The elder mage shrugged. "It will be another fifty gold dragons for the process, of course."

"Oh, but I already know what it does." The imp remarked casually. "I just thought you might be interested in it, is all."

The wizard arched an eyebrow at that. "And who is offering? Your imp, or you, Mr. Observant?" His tone was less than pleasant.

Morris' black and beady eyes flickered with a sudden trace of anger. "You know, I don't like it when people talk about me like I'm plague-infested. But if you gotta know, Marik was offering." His tail twitched angrily. "I'm wondering if he's wanting to take it back."

Saying nothing, the wizard waited before Morris exhaled, obviously frustrated. "Looks like you got lucky, bub. He'll let you take a look at it, provided you apologize."

The wizard snorted. "If my manner offends either of you, you're welcome to leave. If you have something you wish to show me, then show me. Otherwise, end your pointless babbling."

All the while that the Bluestaff mage was staring at Morris, matching glare for glower, he ignored the quiet Marik, and the omnipresent green hand that danced about the table. He did not see it quietly move away from the book, or reach for the haversack beside it, nor dig in one of its enchanted pouches for a hard stone of obsidian, smoothed and rounded to the size of a human eye.

But when Marik clutched it tightly in the fist of his Sorceror's hand and focused his will into it, the snobbish wizard started to pay attention to what Marik had wished to show him. Or rather…to what he could not see Marik showing him.

Darkness erupted about them, enveloping the whole of the study with pitch black void. The wizard let out a cry of dismay, blind as a bat, as did the other spellshapers at work.

Morris, on the other hand, could see the stumbling Bluestaff mage with perfect clarity in the rising darkness. His barbed tail waving back and forth behind him, he flew up into the air and smirked at the blind mage.

"Now, then. Is that enough of a show for you, or does Marik need to finish the demonstration?" As tempted as he was to rap the man's nose, he restrained himself. For all he knew, the wizard might respond with deadly force.

"I think I've seen enough." The man said hastily. "You can stop it."

Smugly, Marik focused his magical will back into the enchanted piece of rock and ended its flow. Light filtered through the waning cloud of darkness and the room cleared as if nothing had ever been amiss.

The green hand floated over in front of the elder Bluestaff wizard, uncurling to reveal the stone.

"It's a little trinket we picked up in our travels." Morris explained calmly. "It can summon darkness, but must replenish itself after each use." The imp chuckled, pleased with himself. "But once is enough in the right situation."

Composing himself, the snobbish mage finally nodded to that wisdom. "So it would seem." He finally agreed. "But why would you bother showing me this?"

"I thought you might be interested in it." Morris replied, speaking for Marik. "And if that were the case, I'd like to talk about a price."

Sensing his own trick turned against him, the Bluestaff mage harrumphed. "Really now. Well, I'll have to make a determination on it first." He held out his hand expectantly, and Marik's six-fingered green appendage dropped it to him.

The elder mage dug in his pocket for a moment before producing a monocle with a ruby lens. Putting it up to his eye, he squinted at the obsidian stone and finished a quick incantation. The lens glowed faintly for a moment, and Marik realized what he was doing. It was a divination spell, much like the one the younger wizards were using on Flame's gauntlets. Unlike their spell, however, the senior Bluestaff mage did not require hours for it to work.

A minute later, he handed it back, slowly nodding in appreciation. "Just as you said; it produces an intense field of darkness."

The imp smiled at him, sensing Marik's quick note. "Yes…and what else?"

The elder wizard blinked at that, and Morris grinned a little broader, exposing his tiny fangs. "If that was all it did, it wouldn't have taken you nearly so long to examine it."

The old spellcaster's eyes darkened as he realized he was caught. "Very well, Mr. Observant. It also gives its user the ability to see through darkness; a needed addition, given its talent."

"Sounds pretty versatile." The imp commented offhandedly, as the wizard gave the stone back to Marik's glowing green hand. "So. What's it worth to you?"

The man thought for a moment, rubbing a hand over his chin. "I'll give you fifteen hundred gold pieces for it."

Marik knew his limitations, certainly. While he could throw out his magics with great frequency, he would never have the range of options the wizards in the Bluestaff Guild had. He treasured his few magical items, as he did not have the training or patience to attempt to forge them. The one thing that Marik was not limited on was knowledge: Knowledge of the past, knowledge of Ashra, of obscure stories and legends, of the roads and the dangers on them.

Even, as curious as one might have found it, knowledge of some of the more common and uncommon magical items used by individuals in their travels. Marik compared the price the elder mage had given him with some of the other prices of magical items he had seen and heard of, from all the bards and travelers who had ever come through the Roadside Temple and spun a tale.

Marik deduced the wizard was trying to cheat him. The stone was worth more than the price the Bluestaff elder had offered. The only question that came to Marik's pondering mind, deep and insightful, was what approach would serve him best.

He could call the man a liar, perhaps. Morris would favor that option, as he had been itching to get back at the man in the last few minutes. He could laugh at the offer and let the matter drop, and keep the obsidian stone of darkness to himself for a while longer, and hope for a better price. Or…

He went for his third choice.

"I think I'll prefer to keep it for the time being." Morris said drily, hovering onto Marik's shoulder as the Sorceror stood up and tucked his spellcasting notes into his haversack. "I imagine I can find a better price for it in Westshire."

"Eighteen-hundred." The elder wizard corrected himself hastily, feeling the stone slipping away from him.

Marik paused at his work, and in the confines of his hood, felt himself smiling. His wager had proven correct. The wizard wanted it.

"Now you're just being rude." The imp snorted, continuing their ruse. Marik slung his haversack over his shoulder, careful to keep his arms and hands inside of his long sleeves.

"Two thousand gold pieces!" The Bluestaff mage exclaimed, becoming frustrated.

Still, Morris sighed. "I'll come back later, when your other mages have finished determining the effect of those gauntlets." The black-clothed Sorceror began to walk off, and the wizard let out a petulant groan.

"I'd be willing to make a trade!"

Marik stopped. Swiveling about on his shoulder, Morris' eyes glinted dangerously. "What sort of a trade?"

The wizard fumbled for an answer. "We…we keep a small assortment of trinkets on hand for purchase in our workshop. I would be willing to part with one of those items in exchange for your stone of darkness."

The Sorceror nodded. "I think we would find that an agreeable arrangement." Morris passed along, pleased with himself. "An item, or items, worth up to…4500 gold dragons, say?"

The Bluestaff elder winced at that, and Morris smiled in triumph. "Given the properties of it, we could hardly part with it for anything less than that."

"Very well." The elder mage grumbled, finding it hard to believe he had had the tables turned on him. "But no more than that."

Marik turned about and followed after the old spellshaper, smiling to himself as he threw Fenderson's obsidian trinket up into the air and caught it, using his favorite cantrip.

The Sorceror and imp were taken down a small hallway, then to a set of winding stairs that dropped down into the lower depths of the house of arcane knowledge. Behind a doorway locked and protected with magical traps and runes, disabled quickly and without clue as to how, the old Bluestaff wizard revealed a storehouse with magical items of every sort and variety. Rings, brooches, headpieces, and more filled up entire shelves. Bookcases were stuffed full of spellbooks and scrolls, all carefully organized and marked. Along the walls, on racks crafted out of durable wood lay weapons from swords to daggers and even a mace and hammer on occasion. Armor and other garments of clothing covered a company of mannequins. And of course, magical staffs and wands rose up out of storage baskets like weeds, prolific and just as aggravating.

Morris had the good sense to whistle appreciatively. "Good grief. Do you intentionally stockpile everything you make?"

Smirking at their wonder, the old mage shrugged. "One never knows what will be called for." He motioned about with his free hand and uttered a quick syllable, and pinpricks of light erupted out of the sea of glimmering wonders, distinct and marked. "I have made known the wares we keep that are within your asking range, Mr. Observant. Choose carefully."

"And if we need any help determining the function of something?" Morris queried, a little disappointed that all of the staffs and wands remained dark.

The wizard harrumphed. "Funny. I would have thought with your extensive knowledge, you would need no assistance."

Morris glowered at the old man, but said nothing. Sighing, the wizard tapped his staff on the ground, simply for show. "Ask if you wish it."

Marik and Morris went about the room, glancing carefully at every item which glowed. Most, Marik recognized. There was a brooch which would protect its user from the harmful magical bolts that mages were famous for using, Marik included. There were gloves which made a person's hands more quick. Cloaks like Rachel's, which bolstered ones' resistance to all manner of adverse effects. Even a handful of the weapons glowed promisingly, swords with enchantments which would give a warrior…give Ness, really…an edge over their foes.

All in all, Sorceror and imp spent nearly half an hour perusing the wares in that storehouse, carefully weighing the benefits of each item in comparison to the others. In that entire time, the Bluestaff mage grew more and more impatient, making his agitation known with a tapping foot.

They were just about to make a decision on a choice between a rucksack with a larger extradimensional space and a better cloak for Marik when the Sorceror noticed a previously unseen glimmer of light in the room, surreptitiously hidden behind a circlet and a jar of exploding marbles.

The Sorceror's hand was summoned back into being, and Marik reached it behind the blocking items, drawing the last item forth.

It was a shining bronze container on a belt band, two cylinders connected by a hollow square chamber. Curiously, Marik noted, one end of the assembly was open, as if waiting for something to be put into it or removed.

It was right about then he noticed that the ends of the device resembled typical scrolls, ten inches high and three inches wide.

"What's this?" Morris queried, carrying along Marik's puzzlement.

The elder mage blinked, surprised. "That old thing? Why, I'm surprised it's even there." He cleared his throat. "That was an experiment of mine about nine years ago. It was an expansion on the enchantment which your backpack uses."

Morris blinked at that. "You mean, it stores things within an extradimensional space?"

"Well, not things." The Bluestaff wizard corrected them. "Only scrolls. I called it a 'wizard scroll keeper', but interest was never that great." He shrugged. "I'm not surprised anymore, of course. Most people don't see the need to use such a thing, because they don't use scrolls all that often."

"Well, it's lit up, which means it's within the price range." Morris remarked. "Seeing as it's based on the principle of my rucksack, I'll give you…Say, two thousand dragons of our forty-five hundred for it."

"Ridiculous." The old man snorted. "It may have been a failed idea, but we're talking about my own work here! There's craftsmanship and pride which went into this! I'll have no less than three thousand gold!"

"Twenty-two hundred."

"Twenty-seven fifty!"

"Twenty-five hundred." Morris shot back. The wizard was about to protest again, but the imp lifted up a clawed hand. "Look at it like this. What would you rather have a creation of yours doing in the world? Sitting around and collecting dust in a storehouse, or being used, and having its effectiveness proved to all of your detractors?"

As much as he wanted to raise the price higher, the Bluestaff mage found it hard to argue with that logic. Like any other artisan, he wanted his work to be known and admired. Vanity, the great enemy of man, claimed his thoughts with true vengeance.

"Very well." The old man said, resigning himself a bit. "Twenty-five hundred. Which gives you another two thousand gold's worth of bargaining room."

Eyes gleaming underneath his hood, Marik tied the belt of his newly acquired scroll keeper at his waist and decisively strolled over to the shelves of books and scrolls.

"Tell me, just how many scrolls can this item of yours hold?"

The old wizard shrugged. "I never had the chance to test it. But just as with your haversack, once you have placed something inside of it, a scroll in this case, all you need to do is think of it as you touch the side of the scroll keeper and it will be drawn out for your use. Or at least, that's how I designed it."

"That's good to know." Morris chuckled, watching as Marik's magical hand flew up on to a shelf and pulled off a scroll enchanted with a shimmercloud spell, effective for blinding foes and revealing unseen dangers. He dropped the rolled up parchment down into the open chute of the device, where it made a soft _thunk_ and was drawn into the depths of the bronze container.

Marik pressed a sleeved hand against the side of his new magical device and concentrated on the contents of the scroll keeper, thinking of the shimmercloud scroll. There was a sucking noise, a _shhhhooomp_, played in reverse to what it had made when it had taken in the scroll, and then out of the opening, the same magical text was launched a foot and a half into the air, into the surprised grip of his magical hand.

The Bluestaff wizard snickered, stifling it with a hand. "I forgot it did that."

"It doesn't give you your scrolls back." Morris guffawed, finding it to be humorous as well. "It belches them!"

Ignoring the joke and the later comments about the dietary needs of his new trinket, Marik calmly began perusing the length of the scroll stuffed shelves, beginning to find another two thousand gold's worth of spells.

Thirty-four scrolls later, Marik finally reached the end of his monetary allotment. Even as the wizard bemoaned silently how long it would take him and the rest of the Bluestaff Guild to write the replacements which had disappeared, Marik casually tapped the side of his "handy scroll keeper" and commanded it to launch a charge's worth of a cantrip that produced a small ray of lightning. Smiling to himself, he dropped it back into the enchanted storage space and nodded to the wizard.

"Not a bad trade." Morris remarked, as Marik handed over the obsidian crystal that would allow the elder wizard the same power that the vampire Fenderson had once used on them.

The Bluestaff elder closed the storehouse behind them, chewing on his lower lip.

It had been an equal trade, and that had been the frustrating part.

* * *

><p>While Marik and Morris were busy at the Bluestaff Guild, Rachel and Ness were off in a different establishment, with a slightly less imposing task ahead of them.<p>

Rachel's eyes glimmered at the salad she had chosen. Given that Ness had selected, according to him, one of the better restaurants in all of Lightfell, she had expected decent fare. This bistro, suspended above the streets on the roof of a small building, had blown away any expectation. Impeccably dressed waiters strolled about, delivering crystal chalices of every drink imaginable and plates with generous and wonderful smelling dishes.

Ness nodded to their waiter as the man set down the second plate, his order of roasted pheasant and glazed apples. "Thank you."

"Would you care for more to drink?" Came the properly phrased inquiry from the black and white clothed fellow. Ness looked over to Rachel's glass of fae wine and nodded.

"I believe so."

"Another glass of elven spirits and honey mead, yes sir." The waiter picked up their glasses and rested them easily on his serving platter, held up with the strength of one arm alone and perfectly balanced. "I will return shortly. Enjoy your meals."

Rachel managed a hasty thank you to the polite fellow before he strolled off, then turned and gave Ness one of her heart-warming smiles. "This is wonderful, Ness."

"I would only take you to the best." He assured her with a quiet, triumphant smile. "Is the salad to your liking?" Tentatively, she took a bite of her meal, savoring the rich texture and impressive flavor. After swallowing, she beamed a smile.

"It's perfect." Rachel gushed. "How is your meal?"

Ness speared one of the candied apple slices and chewed thoughtfully at it. He gave a wistful smile as he swallowed. "Just like I remembered it."

The young Calyssan leaned on an elbow, the side of her head resting in her hand. "So just when was the last time you visited Lightfell, anyways?"

"About six years ago, I suppose." Ness answered after a pause. "I passed through on my way to some business up at Marnus Rhee."

"Another evil fellow to destroy?"

"Well…no." The swordsman admitted sheepishly. "Actually, I went there to be a farmhand for a season."

That hadn't been an answer Rachel had expected, and her smile blossomed. "Ness Benson? A farmhand? I didn't think a proud warrior like yourself would stoop so low."

"I would be a strange fellow indeed if I spent my entire life fighting." Ness said in his defense. "There was a time I wasn't the proud warrior sitting before you. Much the same as I think you weren't always so divinely motivated." Carving off a section of his pheasant, Ness gave her a rugged smile underneath his stubbled face. "Unless you were always such a dear to be around."

"Well, I…" Rachel said, struggling for an answer against the flush of her cheeks. She had drank the first glass of wine quicker than she should have, and it had brought a rush of color to her cheeks. "I wasn't always in the temple, no." She took another bite of her salad, giving herself some time to formulate her next comment. Ness, ever the gentleman, went back to his pheasant and let her continue. "So just where did you come from, Ness? What made you decide to become a traveling sellsword?"

"Sellsword is such a vulgar term." The swordsman grimaced. "No, I prefer the title paid adventurer." The waiter came by, bringing a fresh chalice of wine and another glass of mead. Ness waited until the man had left them again before continuing. "I came from a small community. My father was a farmer. I, like so many other boys, dreamed of going out into the world and becoming a great hero."

"So when you were old enough, you left from home and studied under another?" Rachel guessed.

Ness had a sad look on his face as he gently shook his head. "Nothing so idyllic. I left home when I was thirteen, against my father's wishes. I ran away, and I never looked back." He shook his head. "I should have died out there that first night, but an old mercenary crewed with a party saved me from a pack of wolves that nearly tore me apart. He took me under his wing at my insistence, and I trained and ran with him for seven years, until he became too old to continue his work. I left his service with his blessings." Ness closed his eyes, harkening back to an old and pleasant memory. "It was after that I began to adventure."

Rachel lifted an eyebrow at him, and when Ness opened his eyes and found her staring, he offered a meek shrug. "It's not quite the tale you expected, was it?"

"It's a wonderful story." She countered, giving him encouragement with her pleasant voice. "You made your dream come true. You're an adventurer, out risking it all and making a name for yourself."

Ness Benson felt a chill run up his spine at those words, and he covered a grimace with a long draw from his mead. "I suppose I have." He replied. _Though it's not the name I would have chosen._

"I wonder if your father would be proud of what you've made of yourself?" Rachel teased him. "Where were you born? Around here? If it's close, we could go visit your home. That could be fun."

"I don't think that would be the wisest idea." Ness said gently, carving off more of his pheasant and stacking a slice of candied apple on it.

"Why not?" Rachel inquired, puzzled.

"Because even if I were the greatest hero Ashra had ever known, I would still be a failure in my father's eyes." Ness said, though the words pained him.

For her part, Rachel did not understand that. "How could he be ashamed of you?" She exclaimed. "Look at all the good you've done, all the miraculous deeds you've accomplished! Look at what you're doing now! How could you be a failure?"

"Because I was not a farmer." He concluded solemnly, taking a small bite of the combined apple and pheasant. Chewing for a moment, he swallowed and shook his head. "Because I ran away from my duty to follow a dream."

Rachel remembered how a dream vision of Calyssa had set her on her course beyond the walls of their missionary post in Westshire. "Sometimes, our dream is our duty, Ness. Why wouldn't your father see that?"

"Because." He said, resignation in his tone even as he gave her another one of his sage smiles, "They're simple folk. Their world doesn't go beyond the fields and the town they live in. They don't always see the larger picture."

Rachel picked up her glass and drank some more of her elven spirits, the heady drink strengthening her resolve. "Well, I'm glad you could see it." She answered shyly. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here."

"If it wasn't for you, neither would I." Ness retorted, respect and adoration for the healer in his voice. He reached a hand across the table and found hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "So thank you for that."

Not altogether sure that the wine was responsible for how warm she felt, Rachel trembled a bit as she struggled for a reply. "For what?"

"For being my angel." Ness answered, his blue eyes glimmering just so, and his tousled hair aligning perfectly in the wind. Here was the hidden side of Ness Benson behind the bravado, the farmer's son who had made more of himself than a shepherd. Here was the swordsman who had pledged to never fail a mission.

Here was the innermost, most sacred self of Ness Benson.

And she found it achingly beautiful.

Caught up in the swirling emotions within her, Rachel found the lines between _friend_ and _more than friend_ beginning to blur. She did not know which to choose, but the feeling was good, and she did not wish it to stop. It wasn't the alcohol blurring her thinking, either. It was him that turned her mind to pudding, in how he looked at her with those pretty, wanting blue eyes.

"Does flattery always work for you?" She asked, putting the hand he had squeezed against her chest, feeling as though her fluttering heart might burst out.

Ness gave a small shrug, smiling as he found her confused receptiveness all too endearing. "Well, it's never ruined my chances." He said with a chuckle.

They went back to their meals, and Rachel's meal tasted all the brighter as she began to return to her senses. She refused to drink any more of the wine, though. She was intoxicated enough by his advances alone.

Perhaps the headmistress of their missionary group had been right in warning them all about the charms of older men.

Rachel wondered where the rest of the day would take them.

* * *

><p>If the day had been any more picturesque, he would have taken her candy shopping. But they had more important things to purchase, so they had ventured back into the central bazaar of Lightfell and the countless tailor shops there.<p>

They could have simply bought Ness another cloak from one of the street vendors, but Rachel had insisted that the best quality came when a garment was personally tailored to an individual. And that meant spending a little more time, and a little more money for the detailing.

It was early in the evening when the tailor, paid in advance and tired despite his enthusiasm for the job, set the new green cloak over Ness' shoulders. He tied it to the two bronze buttons he had set as snaps on Ness' chainmail, visible underneath his tunic. "I think you'll find this to your liking, sir. I used some of me wear-resistant cloth I'd gotten treated by the Church here in the city." He offered Ness a wink as he finishing connecting the cloak to Ness and swept it out behind him. "After seeing your last one, I figured you'd appreciate something with more durability."

"It won't cost me an arm and a leg, will it?" Ness queried.

"Oh no, sir. All said, your cloak will only be forty-six dragons, and that's including time and worker's fees." The man exclaimed. "I'll just return the change from the fifty gold you gave me earlier…"

Ness shushed the man with an upraised hand and turned himself about in the mirror, admiring himself. The hilt of Brightflame, strapped across his back rose up defiantly behind his head. Even with his rucksack of traveling supplies bulging out behind him over one shoulder, he looked majestic. His trusted longsword hung from his hip's right side, and his silvered dirk on his left.

He didn't look acceptable, Ness thought as he grinned. He looked _good._

"Keep the extra." Ness assured the tailor, admiring the garment. "You've outdone yourself, my good man."

"Why…well, thank you sir!" The craftsman gushed. "I hope that your ladyfriend finds her new skirt just as satisfying!"

"If it's anything like this, I'll bet she will." Ness replied with a smile. He turned about and stared towards the changing room, where Rachel Ashbury had gone five minutes ago with a skirt she had found hanging completed in the shop. "Rachel, how did it fit?" He called back.

"It fits fine!" She called out to him. The tailor slung his measuring tape about his neck and folded his arms, looking towards the dressing room door.

"Well, don't keep us waiting!" Ness chuckled. "Come out and let us see!"

Slowly, Rachel emerged from behind the doors, a bashful look on her face as she stepped out in a pair of new, more comfortable traveling boots, and a long skirt of grayish blue that danced about her legs. She moved with a fluid grace and the skirt responded; she seemed that she could run in it if she chose without becoming entangled. Covering her shoulders and falling down behind her was a satin shawl of a darker blue shade, a different decoration than her usual red silk scarf.

Bashfully, she twirled about, looking up to Ness as the end of her skirt still struggled to come to a stop. "Well?" She asked nervously. "How do I look?"

The tailor just stared, enamored by the gentle aura about the young woman. Ness nodded with his usual smile. "Like the sunrise." The swordsman said softly.

"The sunrise?" She queried, not sure what he meant by that.

"Of course." He said, charming as ever as he drank in the sight of her. "You're something a man would want to wake up seeing every morning."

Rachel blushed and the tailor coughed nervously, rubbing at the back of his head. "Well now. Is the shawl to your liking as well, my dear?"

Rachel, still red in the face from Ness' comment, reached a hand up to brush at the garment nervously. "It will keep me warm, and it gives me something else to wear outside of my red scarf."

"So, then, will you be purchasing everything?" The tailor posed.

"I think so." Rachel nodded. "What does it come to?"

"Between the boots, the skirt, and the shawl…Thiry-seven gold." The tailor said.

"Not a problem." Rachel began, but Ness cut her off.

"I'll cover the lady's cost as well." He said.

"But Ness, I…"

"Save your money for the ingredients needed to make those healing potions of yours." Ness explained, giving her a wink. "I imagine there will come a time we'll need them again. Make me a few more of those restorative elixirs of yours and we'll call it even."

"Oh, all right." She said, defeated. "But this had better not become a pattern, Ness. I have as much money as you do, I don't need your charity."

"I promise not to make a habit of it." Ness assured her. "But tonight is special." He turned to the tailor and pulled out his moneypurse, paying the man from his share of the treasure they had taken in Fenderson's Pass.

Pulling her magical blue cloak about her, Rachel purposely avoided looking at him again. "Special? What's so special about tonight?"

For once, Ness didn't have an answer. He kept silent as he counted out his gold coins, turned away from her. Rachel had a fairly good idea what Ness had in mind, in spite of his silence.

She thought it over in her head. It had been a good day, really. She had seen the hidden side to Ness Benson, and found his heart and spirit to be beautiful and worth knowing. He was a handsome man, someone that anybody would be lucky to have. Yet…

Even with the Rosequeen's teachings, Rachel Skyler Ashbury hesitated. Guiltily, she told herself that most of her sisters of the missionary group would not waste such an opportunity. She had only been with one man, Parwyn. And after they had parted ways, she had never sought another, wishing to give herself time.

Ness was here, in this moment, and it had been a perfect day. She knew he desired her, and having walked with him, worked with him for weeks now, knew he saw this as no idle frolic. But it came down to her.

Was she ready? It would not be wrong to give into the sensations, to let the passion consume her and to live in beauty like her faith praised. Ness was a fine man, a good match. She still held doubts, especially about what it would do to their team. There was Morris, the grinning little winged devil, and his brooding friend Marik as well. What would they think if she considered Ness as a serious suitor?

Perhaps Marik and Morris wouldn't care at all. It was her life, after all. Who she chose to love was her business. If she did love Ness, it shouldn't change anything with them. Morris was just a friend. Marik was just a friend.

A friend who stayed up at night, who talked to her and worried about her. A friend who protected her only when she asked for it, only when she needed it, and did not stifle her.

A little shamefully, Rachel turned and looked out the window of the tailor's shop, watching the sun begin its slow descent. In an hour's time, an hour and a half, perhaps, it would set and night would be upon them.

She wondered what Marik was doing. She wondered who knew her better. Was it Ness Benson, the capable swordsman who varied between dashing warrior and tired fighter? Or was it Marik Observant, the quiet Sorceror who seemed to know every obscure fact, who could cope with every situation and never offered a complaint?

Ness Benson, who was not afraid to rush into a horde of men, with no concern for his life? Marik Observant, whose potent magics had saved them in Fenderson's Pass? It was Marik who had blocked them from danger while fending off the vampire spawn in their escape to the dilapidated shack.

Ness Benson had seemingly become an entirely different person from when they had all first met, and now, enamored of her, sought to woo and claim her. Marik Observant, was so shy that she always, _always_ had to make the first move, but he was finally coming around, becoming a very insightful conversationalist in the evenings. On their journey, she had favored a nighttime cup of tea with the Sorceror over both Ness and Orville.

Ness Benson wanted her. Marik Observant wanted nothing, except her acceptance and friendship. As withdrawn as he was, she could feel it in every hesitant move, every sad comment about the world and his past.

Ness had spent all of today with her, and done everything in his power to make her happy. Ness had risked his life in Sarine's Woods to find the source of Kalen's poison. Marik had stayed in Kalen and guarded her as she slept. Unable to do a blessed thing to help, Marik had stayed anyway, reminding her and comforting her, in his own unspoken fashion, that she was not alone in this new world.

"Rachel?" Ness' hand brushed against her ear, pushing a loose strand of hair back.

"Hnnn?" She murmured, shaking her head as she came back to her senses. "What?"

"The tailor is closing shop for the night. Are you ready to go?"

"I suppose." Rachel shrugged, giving him a weak smile. "And thank you again for the new clothes."

"Keep smiling like that, and I'll have all the thanks I'll need." Ness said with a wink.

"Oh, then perhaps I'll just bid you goodnight here, and turn in early." Rachel said teasingly.

Caught off balance, Ness struggled for a comeback. "Well, I…I mean, there's still dinner to be had as well."

"You mean you can top lunch?" Rachel asked, lifting an eyebrow as they strolled out of the tailor's shop and into the central bazaar, in the process of closing down for the night.

"Easily." Ness Benson assured her, regaining his composure. He waved his right hand in an arc in front of them as they walked along. "Why, we would have to stay a week to see all of Lightfell's greater wonders, you see!"

Rachel giggled a little bit at that, quieting as she thought back to the guilt in her heart, and the internal debate that still wasn't solved.

Parwyn. Ness. Their quest. Calyssa's call for her to journey out into the new world, and the search for the Grey Shadow. Somewhere in the midst of that confusing jumble, there was the softspoken Sorceror who hid in black cloak and robes.

"Say, Ness, do you think we might check in at the wizard's guild first?"

"The guild?" Ness blinked. "What business would we have there?"

"Well, Marik said he was going there this morning. If he's still there, I'd like to invite him and Morris to have dinner with us." Ness, blinking at that, looked ready to offer a rebuttal, so she silenced him by lifting a finger. "It's only right." She said. "We're a team, after all."

It was hard logic to refute, so Ness didn't bother to try. Sighing in defeat, he nodded his head. "Very well. It's a little out of our way, but I imagine he'll be happy to see us. And if he's been cooped up in there all day, he'll need a respite." He rationalized, trying to make it sound like a better idea.

Inside though, he was disappointed. Today had been perfect, and it all led up to tonight. Rachel was young, gorgeous, and brilliant in her way. While he was no expert at feminine wiles, he had a feeling she was probably entertaining the same notions he was.

He caught her staring off into the distant with a blank expression on her face, lost in thought as they continued through Lightfell.

"Thinking about something important?" He asked.

"Hunh?" Rachel murmured, looking up to him. "What did you say?"

Ness chuckled. "I asked if you were thinking about something. You did it earlier inside of the shop, too." She blushed a little bit, but nodded in the affirmative. "Is there anything you want to talk about?" He pressed, wondering.

Rachel closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, I was just thinking, is all. It's nothing important." She gave him a smile, putting the debate aside for the time being. "Nothing to worry about."

He seemed satisfied with the answer, and led them through Lightfell towards the distant Bluestaff wizard's guild.

Rachel found it easy to follow without thinking about the two sides of her, the passionate healer and the thoughtful young woman still warring within.

It was easier not to think about it.

* * *

><p>His restful meditations had finally given him the rest and focus he had been lacking ever since leaving the bandit camp northwest of Westshire in Crannogh Heights. Incredibly, for all that time, he had been on the run, or trailing behind The Cursed Blade and his unlucky crew. The bandits, believing him gone, had left the alley for parts unknown, and nobody else had threatened his space.<p>

Physically, he was refreshed. Mentally, he had regained his clarity, and could begin to calculate with the cold precision he was famous for once again. Spiritually?

Well, the Grey Shadow reminded himself, he wasn't spiritual at all. So that last aspect was moot.

Knowing he had time to spare before the thieves were destined to meet with him, he had taken to the rooftops of Lightfell and expended another barrier of invisibility upon himself. Wrapped in his tattered black shroud, and rested enough to ignore the glare of the sun, he stretched out his powerful legs and ran.

The first reason for his exploration was to gain a bearing on Lightfell; to identify its streets and corridors, determine the best ambush points, the best escape routes, and which path would be the quickest out of Lightfell's western exit.

The second was to relocate the troublesome mage and his wisecracking imp familiar, the target of his yet to be planned strike. He anticipated the second to be more difficult, seeing as he had stopped tracking them as soon as they entered Lightfell and he resigned himself to some much needed slumber. He just hoped he could maintain his invisibility, and after that, his normal stealth to remain undetected. He had found some comfort in the seedy part of town, but even there, enough attention would have warranted worry and danger. This was Lightfell, after all, and there would always be more individuals rooted firmly in the side of good than larceny and darkness.

After tonight, it wouldn't matter, the Grey Shadow resolved. His business would be done soon enough, and then he could leave this dismal, depressing beacon of hope in Ashra for Istus.

How good it would feel to leave.

Through the eyeholes in his faceplate, the Grey Shadow scanned the streets below, looking with his keen senses to all who stumbled about. As night approached, Lightfell was beginning to settle down for the evening. The streets were mostly empty outside of the occasional merchant pushing his wares away from the marketplaces.

Mostly empty, outside of the Cursed Blade and his healer, that young girl.

The Grey Shadow exhaled sharply, freezing on the rooftop as he recognized them. They turned a corner, oblivious to everything about them. That stubborn swordsman was telling a joke of some sort, and she laughed at it gently.

He glanced about, evaluating the immediate surroundings. No, he told himself after a moment, it would not do to attack them. Not with one Sunrise Guardian passing right by them, and two more patrolling in the area. Common sense and logic dictated that he should wait to strike at them.

And besides, they were not his target tonight. It was their other companion, the great hooded mage who he was after. Another thought occurred to him then. They might lead him to his true quarry.

The Grey Shadow found this option likely, and resumed his walk along the rooftops, keeping the Cursed Blade in sight. Glancing ahead of them, he could make out the imposing structure of the wizard's guild in Lightfell.

It seemed that his mark had opted to convene with the other practitioners of the arcane arts for a time. Probably to fill out his spellbook, or to try and impress his fellow mages with some new cantrip he had developed. Mages were predictable and prideful, in that regard. It also meant that because they were only as strong as the spells they memorized, a mage caught off his guard was a dead mage.

More good news for him. If the hooded spellcrafter had spent the day in the guild, he would have readied his spells for study and practice, not combat.

The Grey Shadow paused at the corner of the last roof before a larger street that crossed in front of the Bluestaff mages' guild. The Cursed Blade and his associate had stopped at the doors, and knocked. The assassin went silent and pressed himself against the brick roof of his last building, keenly aware his invisibility spell would soon come to an end. Still, he craned his hearing outwards, focusing it by force of will and another expenditure of his abilities.

He could hear them perfectly, forty feet distant in their quiet conversation.

Marik and Morris came to the door, a little surprised to find Ness and Rachel smiling back at them.

"What, did I miss something?" Morris grumbled, a little confused. "Is something wrong?"

"Of course not." Rachel reassured the mage and familiar. "We were just wondering how things were coming with you, was all. I mean, you've been gone all day."

Marik nodded solemnly and the imp rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure. It doesn't bug Marik any we've been cooped up in here, but it's been driving me nuts. It took these grumpy old mages forever to finally finish identifying Flame's gauntlets. They just finished a while ago, and purchased them as well."

Marik's translucent green hand manifested itself and floated over a heavy sack. "Looks like the people of Kalen are getting a sizable fund for their recovery. We got cheated a bit, but they still paid 1400 golden dragons for the gloves. Thankfully, they paid in platinum marks. Flame's gauntlets had some resistance to fire, it seems."

"Wonderful news, Mr. Observant!" Ness grinned, tucking it away.

"If you're not doing anything else, we were wondering if you'd want to come to dinner with us." Rachel inquired, cheerful.

Marik thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. The imp, while disappointed, passed along the message. "Marik says we've still got a few things to take care of here first. Where are we staying? It would help to know which inn to meet you all at later."

"The _Frozen Tabard._" Ness answered. "It's on the south side of town, we passed it coming in. Rachel and I have already reserved our rooms, so drop by whenever you get done."

"Sounds like a plan." Morris guffawed. Sighing as he sat back on Marik's shoulder, the imp shook his head. "Well, I guess we'll see you all later."

Rachel was a little disappointed. "I suppose so. Take care of Marik for us, Morris."

Their mage looked a little perturbed at that, but the imp let out a cackle. "Oh, I'll take care of him. Now go on and be off with you. We still have some unfinished business."

Their farewells said, Marik and Morris disappeared back into the Bluestaff guild, and Ness and Rachel strolled off to the east.

The Grey Shadow turned about and carefully made his way back the direction he had come, moving swiftly as he brought another field of invisibility upon himself.

It was coming together better than planned. Tonight, the Cursed Blade would remember that he could not escape his destiny. Tonight, the too insightful and paranoid mage known as Marik would die.

The Grey Shadow's instinct in most cases was to ignore emotion…Save when he gave into the perversion of his feelings. This time, he allowed himself a small amount of satisfaction.

Behind his skeletal looking faceplate, the Grey Shadow smiled.

* * *

><p>Worn out from the day, Rachel convinced Ness that a quiet dinner at their inn, <em>The Frozen Tabard<em>, would suffice. That was how they found themselves sipping hot potato soup in the living room of the inn, sitting across from one another with the sunset falling in the window beside them, and the crackling fire warming the cooling building.

"I enjoyed today." Rachel commented shyly. "Lightfell is a wonderful city."

"One of the best." Ness agreed, stirring his soup about with his spoon. "I wonder what Marik had left to do at the guild."

"He probably was taking a few notes." Rachel shrugged. "Your wizardry is beyond me, but Marik's magic is more like mine. It's intuitive."

"I thought you derived your magic from your goddess." Ness pointed out.

"I do." Came the reply. "But not like the priestesses I studied under." She nodded at Ness. "Marik told me it's about the same way with him."

"Instinctive magic?" Ness wondered. "Curious. Still, that doesn't stop him from knowing what to do with those scrolls of his."

"A good thing, too." The healer said, swallowing another spoonful of the soup. "Elsewise we would have never found Fenderson's hiding place. Or made it through Fenderson's Pass as easily."

"You had just as much to do with our survival as Marik did." Ness assured her. "His spells protected us a fair bit and burned them, but yours scalded them with life's power. Don't forget that."

"You make it sound as though your own contributions meant nothing." Rachel pointed out, dipping her spoon back into the soup. "But as I recall, you were doing just as much as the rest of us."

"Well, yes, but I'm the leader of our little band." Ness said, feeling a little prideful. "It's not my place to talk about my accomplishments."

Rachel smiled at that. Ness had said something like that before, but the answer now was more humble than then. Of course, she could still read the desire in his face. It made him glow, all the more beautiful.

"Ness, I have to know something." She finally said, deciding that if all of today had led up to now, it suited her to gain a definitive answer.

"Oh? Well, if it's a question I can answer, I'll try my best." The swordsman concluded, setting his spoon aside. "What's on your mind?"

"All of today, you've been acting differently than normal. We're still after the Grey Shadow, but even with Brightflame at your back and your promise to Baron Lastagorn, we have spent the day relaxing." She pointed her spoon at him. "And it's not just because Marik spent all day at the guild getting those gauntlets identified, and who knows what else. You had another reason…didn't you?"

Finding his appreciation for the young woman growing stronger all the while, Ness nodded his head, trying to keep as straight a face as possible.

Rachel blinked her blue eyes slowly. "I see. Did you just want to take some time without having to worry about the road ahead of us? Or were you trying to court me?"

Ness exhaled slowly at that, thinking about his answer as the Calyssan stared at him questioningly. "I just can't get anything past you." He said softly. "Yes, Rachel. I was trying to curry your favor." He looked up and matched her gaze. "But I think you know why."

Rachel bit her lip, her thoughts confirmed. "Ness, I…"

"Let me finish." Ness interrupted in a hush. She stopped and listened. "I've never met anyone like you, Rachel. You glow, you bring life to everything around you every moment you breathe. And I think that I've come to…Come to think of you as more than just a friend."

He reached his hand across the small table, and squeezed hers. "I think I might even be falling in love with you."

Rachel closed her eyes, but didn't pull her hand back. "How do you know?" She asked softly. "How do you know that it's love?"

"I don't know." Ness said, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. "But I know that it's something that should be given a chance. Because when you look at me, I see something I feel as well. If it isn't love, Rachel, then it's still an emotion we both share. And it's one that we could build on."

Perhaps it was how he said it. Perhaps it was that Rachel could feel all her arguments slipping away from her as his strong hand caressed hers. Or perhaps Ness was right, and her heart had known something her mind didn't.

Her mouth went dry, and her stomach tightened up into a knot, making the soup suddenly unsatisfying. And when she looked up to Ness, she knew that her face was turning all shades of red.

"Maybe we could." She answered, her voice tremulous.

Ness nodded and pulled his hand back. "But do you want to?" He asked.

She thought that an odd question until he justified it with a shake of his head. "Rachel, if I had any doubts at all, I would stop this. And if you have any doubts, tell me that it should all end here." He rested his arm on the table, watching her carefully. "I know how I feel." _And I know what I want, too, Rachel. But I've been down far more journeys than you have, and know my heart._

The healer closed her eyes. "I would be lying if I said I didn't feel something for you, Ness. And a part of me does want to take it slow. Another part of me, though…"

She drew her arms back, folding them around her. "I only have one heart, Ness."

"So do I." The swordsman answered, slowly standing up. "But I would give it to you."

In her spirit, his words rippled like an echo. Still, she hovered, not knowing what answer to give. "I should probably turn in for the night." She said softly. "Tomorrow, I'll set to work making my next batch of potions." With her new shawl draped over her shoulders, she held her hands against her elbows and gave him a soft smile. "We'll just see what tomorrow brings."

He followed her out of the living room, abandoning their half-eaten dinner and up the stairs, knowing full well that the innkeeper's wife was watching them with a curious, watchful eye.

Every step up the stairs to the bedrooms, Rachel could hear Ness, and feel him coming up after her. Every step took her closer to sleep…

And an unspoken, unheralded promise of something that might be, carried by his musk.

They could go no further. She paused at the door, giving him a soft and gracious smile. "I had a wonderful day, Ness."

"So did I." He answered, just as hushed. The moon had finally taken over where the sunset had been, and a soft silver light came in through the window at the end of the hall. Standing there in the dim light, Rachel seemed to carry an elf's grace.

Something sparkled in her blue eyes, dark and promising. He caught onto it and reached.

She turned to open her door, and had one hand on the knob when she felt his strong hand pull insistently at the other one.

Then she was tumbling, falling, being pulled against him and looking up in surprise into his rugged face and his deep cerulean gaze.

"Especially this part." He said, and her lips parted in a silent gasp.

Rachel stood at about five feet and eight inches. Ness was six feet tall. She could have floated the difference when he lowered his head down and kissed her, deep and hungry. One hand came to rest behind her head, his muscular fingers tangling themselves in her silken auburn hair. The other rested in the small of her back, pushing him against her and forcing her back into an arch.

Rachel's head swam, and all doubt vanished.

Ness felt his control slipping away, almost groaning as his tongue grazed over her teeth, tasting a hidden ephemeral dash of her true flavor, a pure clover honey so sweet it sent his blood to rushing.

She stood there, frozen in the kiss for countless seconds, marveling in the sensation as his tongue hungrily delved into her mouth. With what little thought she could muster to her fevered brain, she found herself not only enjoying the kiss, but wanting it.

So she kissed him back, and closed her widened blue eyes.

Ness was stunned when she responded. As young as she was, he had expected her to be completely naïve, but…The way she kissed, how her tongue danced about his and seemed to find every nerve in his mouth suggested otherwise.

He could only continue the kiss for ten seconds before it overwhelmed him, and he pulled back, slowly gasping for air.

She too, breathed a little heavier, her flushed face accented in the soft moonlight of the hallway's single window.

Ness looked at her, a passionate fire awakened as he looked into her blue eyes, not knowing what to say.

Rachel said nothing. She only pushed a loose strand of her hair out of her eyes and smiled at him, her racing heart nearly singing for the joy that had been untapped in those precious moments.

Precious moments she would keep for tonight.

Her smile was perhaps too coy and teasing as she opened the door to her bedroom and ducked inside, looking back at him and knowing he had wanted more. "Good night, Ness." She said to him, throwing him a wink.

And then that was the end of it, and her door closed.

His head was still swimming when Ness came back down the steps, doing his best to clear his thoughts and calm his rushing blood. The innkeeper's wife gave him a knowing grin, and Ness turned away, embarrassed by the older woman's candid observation.

Ness Benson went back to the living room and eased himself back into one of the padded chairs set up for patrons. He found himself staring into the fire, and would likely still be staring at that fire hours from now as he tried to make himself tired enough for bed.

For the moment, there would be no rest. Absentmindedly tracing his fingers against his lips, Ness wondered just where Rachel had learned to kiss so well.

* * *

><p>The wizards of the Bluestaff Guild were glad to see Marik and Morris finally ready themselves for departure, especially the elder who had dealt with them the most. In a sense, they had made a right nuisance of themselves. In another, Marik wondered if they had ever figured out that he was no true wizard, but a rarer type of spellcaster. Perhaps if the Bluestaff mages had known he was a Sorceror, a mage who cast by instinct and intuitive will rather than focused study and precise measurements, they would not have allowed him in. Perhaps they would have accepted him more readily, seeing it as a chance for observation. Given Morris' presence, they might well have made the connection, and never let on.<p>

Whatever musings he might offer, though, were not nearly as clear as Morris', once the door had shut behind them and they strolled out into the moonlit street.

"I swear, if all wizards are like them, it's a miracle they're even alive nowadays!" The imp snorted. "I don't think there's anybody who could put up with them for more than a few days at a time!"

Inside of his hood, Marik let out a brief wheezing chuckle. _**And they have to suffer each other every day. I imagine that does more to influence their moods than anything we could ever do to them.**_ His sleeved left hand came down to tap the side of his new magical gadget, the metallic scroll keeper enchanted with the same kind of extradimensional storing capacity that his rucksack kept. _**Still, for all they lack in graciousness, they make up for in productivity. That Vampire Fenderson left us a tool by which you and I just became a little stronger.**_

"Yeah, sure." The imp said, deflated. "Scrolls, scrolls, and more scrolls. Don't you ever get tired of those things?"

_**Do you ever get tired of complaining?**_

"Only about how much I hate those damn crackers you always keep feeding me for trail rations." The imp grumbled, swishing his tail behind him in annoyance. "Geez, it's late. Where did Rachel and Ness say we were staying tonight?"

_**A place on the south side of town…The Frozen…Oh, some piece of clothing. Tunic? No…**_

"Tabard." Morris recalled, surprised he could recall it. "The Frozen Tabard."

_**Aah, that was it. Thank you, Morris. I suppose we should get there.**_

"You think they're still waiting for us?"

_**I doubt that. It's been a long day, and as driven as Ness is, he's probably bound and determined to pursue the Grey Shadow into Istus at first light.**_

"Well, that's a shame."

_**Not really. Nothing we did today is of any note. We wouldn't have anything to talk about.**_

"I should have stabbed him." Marik did a double take at that, and the stubborn little Imp shook his head, his massive ears standing erect. "That old wizard. You know, they didn't even have the decency to introduce me to their familiars?"

_**Probably a good thing. If I remember the stories about the Bluestaff guild, they tend to favor more feminine winged creatures as pets.**_

"You mean they had _fairies_ in that dusty old library, and you didn't tell me?!" Morris demanded. "Why not?!"

_**For the same reason I'm regretting telling you now.**_ The Sorceror explained with a long sigh. _**Any time mention of a fairy is made, you feel the urge to run off and bed her.**_

"Look, there are some things about my heritage even I can't get over." Morris grumbled in his defense. "And can I help it if I find those little vixens so damn appealing?"

Their conversation went like this for all the long minutes as Marik strolled in a generally southern direction with Morris resting on his shoulder. The moon was only half full, and the streets were dim, with the occasional streetlight flickering as they passed along. Late as it was, they didn't see many people out and about, and they'd only passed by one Sunrise Guardian who had given them a polite salute before going back to his patrol.

Marik kept to his casual gait as they reached the beginning of the southern edge of Lightfell. His sharp eyes noticed that the lightposts along the street had gone out, but didn't think anything of it immediately. Fires went out if they were unattended, and as big a city as Lightfell was, it probably took the workers who tended them a while to check every one.

Morris noticed something else unusual, though, when they entered into the darkness.

His large ears twitching, Morris glanced behind him to see two men in scruffy clothes and piecemeal leather armor calmly step out from a side alley of the street, their grim expressions less than pleasant. They were looking at Marik and Morris. One brandished a long whip. The other pulled free two wicked looking daggers.

Marik could hear the two thugs behind him, and more importantly, he could see a third one step out and begin to approach him from the front, wielding a longsword.

Fluttering a little way off of Marik's shoulder, the imp swiveled about, looking as the three bandits surrounded them. He doubted very much they had just a simple robbery in mind, not with the gleam in their eyes. A check of his innate detection abilities confirmed it; they were all evil, for their auras flared a dark reddish black, nothing but ill intent on their minds as his beady little orbs watched them.

_Boss…_

_**Yes, Morris.**_ Marik replied over their bond, trying to stay calm even as his arm twitched at his side. _**I see them.**_ Careful not to move his neck, he let his sensitive eyes glance through the darkness of night, evaluating their surroundings. Out here, surrounded on two sides, he was at a distinct disadvantage. No, it would work better if they came at him from one side alone.

Five feet ahead of him and on his right was an entrance to an alleyway, short of the third longsword wielding bandit.

Trying not to panic, Morris sent Marik another urgent message. _What do we do now?!_

_**Let's approach the alley.**_ Marik Observant reasoned, moving as casually as possible at first, then darting at the last moment as they realized his intention and moved to block him. _**No sense in drawing this out. We'll take the fight to where it suits us best. The dark.**_

No sooner had he moved into the alley than Marik Observant suddenly found himself regretting his choice. A fourth bandit was already waiting for him there, his brown hair tied back into a braid and a shortsword and dagger in his hands.

Up above, standing on the corner of one of the buildings which made the alley Marik had just darted into, the hidden and unnoticed Grey Shadow watched his plan unfold with grim satisfaction.

** Excellent.**

Now, he would see just how capable of a mage the Cursed Blade's wizard truly was. He believed the fool would be able to throw off one, perhaps two spells at most, even if he had prepared more. Then the pack, surrounding him and cutting off all escape, would move in and end his pathetic life.

Even if they failed, there was a contingency for that. There was a contingency for anything, really. That was why he was so good at his job.

Below, Morris cringed and stated the obvious. _Damn! We're surrounded, boss!_

_**I'm so glad you just discovered that.**_ The Sorceror stated, keenly aware as he went down into a defensive half-crouch that this would not go well at all.

"End of the line, mage." The thief already in the alley remarked, gripping onto his two weapons a little tighter. The other three moved into the entrance of the alley, and cut off any hope of escape.

They were trapped.

In the back of his mind, Marik could hear his father and mentor, Headmaster Rodian's famous passing remark. _I trust you, Marik. It's the world I don't trust._

_We're gonna die. _Morris said, unprepared for such a fight, and worse, without his usual confidence. _Boss, we're gonna die!_

Holding his arms down at his sides, Marik kept to his stance and shook his head. _**I'm not ready to die.**_

He clenched his right hand into a fist and twisted his wrist just so, activating the springloaded silver-edged longsword hidden in his sleeve. It shot forth, a glittering length of metal down his arm that surprised the bandits. In his left hand, growling the beginning of what served for an incantation for him, Marik mustered a cloud of green energy about his hand, readying a salvo of magical bolts.

"By the bones of Mortus!" One of the other thieves exclaimed, surprised by Marik's movements.

The Grey Shadow, watching from above, had also been surprised by the hidden weapon up the mages' sleeve. As his eyes resumed their normal stance from the slits they had narrowed to, he found himself having to stifle a chuckle. Oh, he had heard the discussion between Marik and Morris, at least the parts Marik said. The imp was inaccessible to his mental reach.

**Not ready to die?** He mused, all expression hidden behind the dull metal faceplate which gave him the visage of a corpse. **Heh…We'll see about that.** His hands gripped at his own two shortswords, sharpened to a razor's edge along the serrated teeth. No matter how this first fight took place, he would finally get to see the power which had saved Ness Benson in Fenderson's Pass.

It had not been that fool Cursed Blade's swordsmanship which had destroyed the two vampires and their undead horde. And that young female healer could only do so much, even with her divine aid, the Shadow mused in his arrogance. So it had been the efforts of this tall and quiet mage in front of him, dressed all in black which would have had to be the deciding factor in their survival.

That factor would no longer bother him after tonight.

Morris could see the whip-wielding mugger ready a strike, and marked him as his first target. Pushing off of Marik's shoulder, the imp tapped into his innate powers once more and went invisible. In the same moment, Marik leapt forward and jerked his left arm as though he were throwing a ball. The motion unleashed three sizzling bolts of eldritch green light, his tried and true means of attack. They hissed through the air to slam into the lead bandit's chest, and the painful stinging force knocked the man back. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he managed a quick swipe just as Marik made a high impossible leap over the man. The edge of his shortsword danced inches away from Marik's large, custom-made boot, but cleanly missed. Marik didn't bother to retaliate, nor did he begin to charge up another blast of green bolts.

Tapping the side of his new enchanted scroll keeper, Marik summoned forth his Sorceror's hand with rapid expediency, easily catching the rolled up parchment as it launched from the scroll keeper's opening with an almost comical _thunk._

He only hoped Morris could keep the other three off his back long enough to cast the spell scribed on it.

The biggest worry, in terms of immediate danger to the dashing Marik was the man with the whip. When Marik had made his frantic jump over the man, easily clearing a seven foot height at the apex, the bandit was swinging his arm forward, instinctively knowing that the seasoned leather would unfurl precisely where he wanted it to, catch around the foot of the frantic mage, and bring him crashing to the ground. After that, it would have been a simple matter, positioned as their leader was, to run him through with one of his weapons and bring this matter to a close.

It was a perfect tactic, and would have been brutally efficient, save for one thing; The sudden reappearance of the clothed imp, Morris Redtail, and his stinging, poisonous tail of paralyzing venom. There was the briefest flash of feral triumph on the winged devil's face as his stinger stabbed through the man's leather glove and injected the toxic substance into his systems. The effect was immediate and pronounced.

Wincing from the blow, his whip strike went wild and off to the side, cracking in the empty air. Soon after, he felt his hand begin to go numb and stiff.

"Why you little…!" He growled, swiping up at the imp with his other hand. But Morris was already backing away and out of reach, fading back into nothingness. "Watch out, that bat of his hurts!" He barked, switching his whip over to his other hand. The paralyzing numbness went up from his hand to the full length of his arm, but thankfully stopped there.

_I just saved your bacon again, boss! _

_**That's the way, Morris! Keep at it while I ready this scroll.**_

_ Just what are you doing, reading off the ingredients to chocolate cake over there?!_

_**If you would stop complaining and get to work, I might be able to finish this!**_ That last mental chastisement came with a grunt as the lead mugger swung in a little too close for comfort, gashing through the fabric of his robes and meeting the shining mythril chainmail underneath. There came a sigh from behind the lead bandit's neck, and then the barest pinprick as Morris reappeared once more and stung deep.

"Guh…" The man choked out, slapping towards Morris. The imp simply cackled again and took up into the air.

_That's two so far, and you've yet to land a single blow!_

_**Oh, so now we're discounting my magical blasts, is that it?**_ Marik clenched the scroll a little tighter in his Sorceror's hand, focusing on the power in the inscribed incantation, but not requiring the words themselves.

The scroll glowed for a moment, then fell dark as smoke began to roll off of it. The leader of the thieves tried to come at Marik again with a halfhearted swing, made more difficult by the paralyzing venom that now sped through his veins.

Normally, Marik would have tried to parry it, or jump backwards to avoid it, but the scroll's magic had taken effect in him, and he merely dodged to the side. Moving with a speed that was twice his norm, the Sorceror weaved the errant swipe with ease.. Choosing to avoid the killing blow, he slammed the flat of his springloaded longsword against the back of the man's head, dropping him cold.

_**Going by your logic then, Morris…I'm up to one.**_ Came the cautious, but satisfied reply.

The Grey Shadow's eyes narrowed behind his faceplate, watching the fight with shrewd interest. **Well, well…you and "Morris" are just full of tricks now, aren't you?** The ease of their mental connection was surprising. The comfort, the camaraderie was puzzling.

The mage's hidden weapon was unusual; it probably used some manner of mechanism more in line with the craftsmanship of the gnomes to achieve that deadly functionality. More surprising to him had been the initial magical assault. Cautiously, he shrugged it off. It was probably a fluke; perhaps this mage was more paranoid than most, and refused to go without an offensive spell to even out his day's work.

And then there was his scroll, and the casting there. The more that the Shadow thought about it, really, the more disconcerting it became.

He had thrown out those magical bolts without a shouted incantation. He had seen other mages manifest similar effects without speaking the longwinded and cryptic words wizards relied on, but those spells were draining, prohibitively so.

Marik had only growled. How he had held the scroll, there in that floating hand of his…Experienced as he was, the Grey Shadow knew when a scroll was expended, and it had been.

The mage hadn't even bothered to unroll it.

It was only when the other three came forth and the black robed mage summoned forth a rumbling fireball, guided along by that green glowing hand that the Grey Shadow felt an old memory click into his mind. Something he had once heard, something lost by his long years.

This man was no wizard. No, now the imp familiar, their close knit bond, and the man's sheer versatility, guiding magic by instinct and without odd ingredients and incantations all made sense.

Marik Observant was a Sorceror.

**No wonder the Cursed Blade has survived this long. I thought their breed was all long dead and gone, lost to the obscurity of the ages. **

The success of the rogues below seemed less likely now. They might even perish.

The Grey Shadow didn't care, though. Even if they didn't succeed, they would still weaken the faceless mage known as Marik Observant. And he wouldn't have to pay them the rest of their agreed fee.

His hands twitched, gripping his serrated silver shortswords a little tighter.

**Give me a show, boy. Give me something to remember on the nights ahead.**

"Bastard!" Roared the longsword wielding bandit. As one solid force, they all charged in. Marik backed up a bit, guiding his fireball towards them. Swinging it wildly in front, the imminent threat of having their faces burned off stopped them a few times, but finally the one with the whip snapped out with it, landing a glancing blow along Marik's sleeved arm. For as much as it stung, it made Marik wince and lose control of the spell, which allowed the rogue with the daggers to spin about the magical obstacle and charge at Marik.

_**Morris…**_

_I know, I'm on it, I'm on it!_

Marik dropped his rolling sphere and let it tumble down the distance towards his would-be killers. It narrowly missed the man with the whip, who threw himself out of harm's way at the last moment.

The dagger-carrying rogue spun around the spinning ball of flames, his legs pumping angrily in an attempt to close the distance. He would have succeeded too, had he not met the combined resistance of Marik's Sorceror hand punching him square in the nose and Morris darting in to stab at the backside of his knee with more of his paralyzing venom.

Still, onwards he came, grimacing from the shock and feeling the poison begin to work through his joints, making his leg stiff and numb. "I'll take you to Hell with me, mage!" Came the rasping reply, despite his bleeding nose. He got in close enough to Marik to try just that, deflecting the strike of the Sorceror's springloaded longsword with the flat of his first dagger, and swinging the point of his second up to nick at Marik's ribs.

He hit empty air, as the still accelerated Marik threw himself out of the way. The dodge landed him hard against the wall, and the dagger thief made one last charge.

_**MORRIS!**_

There was the briefest flash of leathery wings, and then the imp's tail came down and stabbed deep into the mugger's neck. He let out a gurgling noise of surprise before his entire body froze up on him, and he collapsed. Marik picked himself up, his shoulders rising and falling from his panicked breath.

Smugly, Morris threw a look at him. _That makes three times I've saved you tonight, boss._

Marik whipped his longsword up, slicing at the uncoiling whip which narrowly missed Morris. It cracked the air beside him, and the imp jumped in surprise. _What the…!_

_**Don't get cocky. This isn't over yet!**_ Marik chastised his friend. A little cowed from his close call, Morris went silent and rendered himself invisible again.

Two of the four were down; relying on the extended whiplashes of his friend, and hoping that the imp would have the good sense to steer clear of him, the longsword wielding mugger charged in towards Marik. "It ends here, mage!" He roared, coming in fast and ignoring defense for the charge.

The effort earned its intended effect. Marik found himself harried and slowly backing away from the man, their blades crossing. He would have preferred to settle it with another salvo of magical bolts, but the bandit was ferocious, and distracted as he was by the second mugger hurling his whip out to trip him up, he could not focus enough to unleash the force.

He could however, rely on a less powerful, but more utilitarian technique. On their fourth clash of blades, Marik's favorite green hand of magical energy reformed and swatted at the man's face. It wasn't enough to injure him, but it jarred him enough for Marik to take the offensive.

That was a benefit to being nearly six and a half feet tall, he considered grimly as he charged at the man and swung hard. When you came at somebody, they tended to get out of your way. Swearing to himself, the man with the longsword knocked aside Marik's rushing stab and swung himself clear.

Marik kept coming after him. He'd had enough of the alley, and it was time to bring this to a close. He began to growl as he ran, charging towards the man with the whip. By the time the surprised man reared back for another strike, Morris was on top of him, and the imp's tail was jammed deep into his neck. Gurgling as every muscle in his body froze on him and he collapsed to the ground, the only thing standing between Marik and the open street was dropped.

_I've got four saves now, boss!_

_**You're forgetting you can sneak in because they're focused on me. All the same, good timing.**_

_No worries. Now knock this last creep out of the picture and let's get out of here!_

Turning about in the mouth of the alley, Marik finished his spell and felt the reassuring presence of his green protective aura drop down over the length of his body. It had nothing to do with bringing this fight to a close, but it would give him some added protection, and make it that much more difficult for the last standing aggressor to harm him.

_**It's time to end this.**_

Seeing all his comrades fallen on the ground, either unconscious or paralyzed and helpless, the longsword carrying bandit felt very much alone. He held his blade in a ready position and gave Marik one last defiant stare. "You monster." He rasped, shaking his head. "You and that little demon of yours…"

_Idiot. I'm a devil, not a demon._

_**I don't think he particularly cares.**_ Marik thought idly as he swung his springloaded longsword back and forth at his side.

_ You want me to sting him?_ Came the eager question from Morris, hovering somewhere close, but invisible and unseen.

_**No. I'll finish this. Their advantage was in their numbers, and you and I have eliminated that. I can take him from here.**_

_ Gloryhog._

_**I wasn't the one counting my strikes.**_

Marik lifted his blade up and pointed it towards the bandit, giving a slow nod of his head. _**All right, you rogue,**_ he thought aloud, so Morris could hear._** I'm right here. Are you going to come at me or not?**_

"You won't take me so easily." The last mugger exhaled. He gripped his sword a little tighter and dashed towards Marik. "This ends here!"

Marik steeled himself and pulled his sword back. Growling to himself, he extended his index finger on his left hand, hidden in his sleeve, feeling the small energies within the cantrip beginning to coalesce.

At the last moment, he casually lifted his left arm up and fired off the small blue beam of cold, aiming it towards the man's longsword grip. It struck and formed a small chilling boundary of ice and frost about his hands, making the bandit grimace. Still, he reached Marik and swung, putting everything into the slash he could muster. He aimed for Marik's midsection, hoping to sever the mage in two.

The blow hit and cut through the first layer of fabric in his robes. It stopped short at the second boundary, with a brief flash of green rising up to his stunned eyes.

Dumbstruck, the thief looked up to the empty darkness of Marik's hood. "That should have killed you…"

Marik, tired of being threatened, tired of being chased, and tired of the entire experience, finally felt something snap in him.

He pulled his right arm back, then rammed it forward. The silvered longsword strapped to his arm easily pierced what little protection the bandit had and ran him through. There was a gasp, that last breath of air and the rush of blood as the man's ruptured heart gave out, and then Marik retracted the blade with a twist of his wrist.

The man's body fell to the ground, and Marik turned about, feeling a sense of guilt despite everything common sense screamed at him about his own need for survival.

Morris reappeared, fluttering down in the alley behind Marik with an appreciative whistle. "Geez, boss. You cut it close there, didn't you? If that spell of yours hadn't held, he could've gutted you!"

_**If there is anything that I have faith in, Morris, it is that my magic will work.**_

"And what about me?!"

_**And you, Morris. **_

"Oh, all right." The imp said dejectedly, hovering over the paralyzed bandits within the alley. "I imagine they'll be stuck like that for a few hours…at least until my poison finishes its course. Then they'll start moving again."

_**We'll be long gone by then. Good work, Morris. I don't think that Ness and Rachel would have enjoyed the rest of our quest without…**_

It was obvious there was a conclusion to that sentence. It was more obvious that something had made Marik pause. Morris hovered where he was, back in the alley and looking curiously to his friend.

"Boss, what's wrong?" Nothing immediate, as far the imp could tell. Yet something made Marik glance about, a sense of unease in his mind that he sent through his unique connection to Morris.

_**I feel funny.**_

_ Funny?_ Morris answered, reverting back to their telepathic bond. _What do you mean 'funny'?_

_**I feel like we're being watched.**_

_ Oh, lord. Not that again. You said the same thing twice before, you know. Once when we left Fenderson's Pass, and again when we were leaving Kalen._

_**I know. That's why it feels so odd.**_

Morris Redtail would probably have been less disrespectful to Marik's odd hunch if he would have bothered to take a wider scan of their surroundings back when their skirmish had begun. Up above, the Grey Shadow felt his respect and annoyance for the Sorceror grow. Somehow, by a means the assassin could not determine, Marik Observant was capable of sensing his eavesdropping.

**I know what you're capable of now, mage. **He thought grimly. **And there is one easy way to eliminate your advantage.**

The longer he stayed motionless, the more likely it became that Marik would discover him. The Grey Shadow had one powerful force above all others at his disposal; surprise. Surprise would end Marik's greatest tactical advantage.

His eyes narrowed behind his metallic faceplate. He focused in on the imp, floating curiously, but unaware of any danger.

He held his shortswords down at his sides, against his legs.

**It begins.**

The puzzling sensation Marik felt grew stronger, filling his spirit with a building sense of unease. It wasn't sickening, but there was an undeniable sense that something either was very wrong…or would be.

Worst of all, the sensation made his head throb. Twice, he'd disregarded it. But to have it happen again, after narrowly avoiding an attempt on his life was something else. Like somebody was watching him, he'd said every time. Like some maligned entity was staring at him, and worse, trying to stare into his thoughts. _**Morris, I…**_

Morris never had the chance to respond. A hidden figure leapt down from above, and Marik looked up at the sound of displaced air. He saw a lean humanoid hurtle towards the ground, a set of shining swords at his sides. Morris became aware of the new attacker too late to completely avoid it; by the time he screeched in horror and tried to get out of the way, one of the gleaming, silvery shortswords had already swung up towards him. It cut deep into his wing despite the imp's best efforts, but couldn't sever it completely. He was thrown against the wall of the alley, bleeding to death from a wound his body could not heal, and knocked unconscious from the force of the blow.

Marik felt their telepathic link drop out again as Morris slipped from the waking world…almost from the land of the living entirely.

_**Morris…MORRIS!**_

The shortswords glimmered faintly in the dim moonlight, the serrated teeth along the cutting side of one sword slick with Morris' blood.

Casually and without hesitation, the figure dressed in black and gray woven armor walked about the alley, slicing open the throats of the three muggers Marik and Morris had incapacitated, but not killed. Only after that was done, and Marik had lost his voice from shock and horror, did he turn about to give the Sorceror a full on look.

He was gaunt. He was muscular. His body was covered from chest to feet in armor and cloth. And his face was hidden completely by a mask…no, not a mask. A faceplate carved from dull, lifeless metal, the only openings being a thin slit for his mouth, two for his nostrils, and two eyeholes. The mask was a twisted skull of metal, and covered the only opening to the black flared hood covering his head.

Ness Benson had explained to them early on what the Grey Shadow had looked like. _A man with a face like death, and a body trim and covered all in dim cloth and armor. It's that mask of his you'll recognize the quickest._

_**No, Ness. He's not wearing a mask. **_Marik thought to himself, twisting his right wrist and extending his springloaded silver longsword back out into position.

The Grey Shadow was just as monstrous as the fake face he wore.

The assassin seemed to let out a low, wheezing chuckle as he readied his serrated shortswords again. They glimmered faintly in the moonlight, and the way he held himself, posed with one pointed to the ground and the other held out to the side, there was no doubt as to his intention.

**It's just you and me, little mage. **The Grey Shadow mused with a grinning laugh. A part of him discouraged that thought, saying that such emotions were unbecoming of one in his field.

The second part of him, the one he tended to listen to far more often to the frustration of those who associated with him, said that if he was going to kill the Sorceror standing in front of him, he might as well be stylish about it. After all, to enjoy one's life, you had to do things…with style.

And the Shadow wasn't one to argue with his mantra.

Marik realized something as the Grey Shadow ended his minor preparations and came running at him. Every time he had gotten that funny feeling, it was because of the assassin charging at him out of the dark alley, here in a city Marik had felt safe in.

In Fenderson's Pass, when they left, he had felt the Shadow.

When they left Kalen, he had felt the Shadow.

_**It was him. Every time, it was him, and I just never knew it…**_

Morris was dying. Rachel and Ness were at the inn still south of here, oblivious to the danger. And Marik Observant, for all his strength, was no match for the Grey Shadow alone.

Dimly, he wondered what it would be like to die.

He wondered if he would be missed.

* * *

><p>In a conflict of two swords against one, the extra few inches of Marik's arm-mounted blade meant next to nothing. Any direct confrontation would be disastrous. His thoughts began to race as quick as his heart, his emotionally fueled panic much the reverse of the collected and focused will of the Grey Shadow. Out in the open street, on a flat surface, Marik was at a disadvantage. There was a warrior's skill in the way the assassin charged at him.<p>

Marik did not want a flat battlefield. He could not give it to him.

Marik lived with restraint. He lived with it every day, because of who he was, because of the power he wielded, and because of what he feared. Death, not as much. Failing to find the life worth living? That was unforgivable.

Most of all, he was afraid of himself. That curious self-loathing had guided every step of his life, from the moment he could think for himself to now. There was the potential of what he could do, what he had done long ago, training and running about the Roadside Temple with abandon, exhausting himself every day. There was the level of performance he used in his daily efforts out here on the road; how much of his true potential he hid, just to conform a little more.

Not magical potential. Physical. Martial.

This was life or death. Morris was down, and nobody could help him. And Marik heard another one of Headmaster Rodian's passing sayings, those wise words spoken by the man who had raised him.

_Out there, you'll hide yourself. But if it comes down to you living and them dying, Marik, don't hold anything back! ANYTHING!_

The Shadow was only seven feet away.

Marik felt his muscles tense, a resolve flowing into them he had not had to use since Fenderson's Pass, there in the darkness where nobody but the monsters could see his power.

Six feet. He would hold nothing back.

Marik jumped.

At five feet from Marik, the Grey Shadow went into a whirling storm of slashes and cuts, fast, furious, and unstoppable. He hit empty air, and looked up above him to see the crafty Sorceror leaping clean over his head, passing in a jump that had taken him nearly ten feet into the air, and sent him soaring back into the alley.

**Well, well…You sly devil, you've been hiding your true potential, haven't you? **The Shadow was amused at that. Likely the mage had cast a spell on himself which increased his ability to jump. While it wasn't the truth, it was the assumption the Shadow made. It was a simple enough spell, practiced by many. He turned about and ran after Marik, amused by the feeble resistance. **You can't run forever, though.**

His unspoken wishes didn't stop Marik from trying. As soon as his boots hit the dirt of the alley, the Sorceror charged towards the dead end, seeing the wall and formulating a brief plan in his mind. With any luck, the Grey Shadow wouldn't see it coming. He hoped so.

Much of what he could pull off depended upon the ignorance, or perhaps superiority complex, that he hoped the Shadow possessed. The blood pounding through his head didn't prevent him from hearing the loud footsteps coming towards him from behind.

Marik clenched his left hand into a fist and began to growl again, soft and barking between breaths. Soft green energies began to coalesce about his sleeve, waiting for the right time to strike.

At the end of the alley, Marik jumped up, pushing against the brick barrier with both legs, scrunching his body down in the moment he had before gravity would begin to take hold.

He pushed off with a powerful stroke of his legs, sending him hurtling back over the head of the charging Grey Shadow once more. The Shadow couldn't nick him as he soared overhead, so he turned about and readied himself for another charge.

Marik did a backwards somersault in midair, coming down on his powerful legs and slashing his hand out in an arc. The green mist around his sleeve exploded into full light, and three comets of green light, his tried and true magical bolts, hurtled towards the Shadow.

They hit as the assassin was still turning, dead center in the Shadow's chest. Or at least, they seemed to. The Shadow straightened up as the energy dissipated back into the aether, not stunned or injured by the scatterburst at all.

Marik blinked. No, that couldn't have just happened.

His magic _always_ worked.

_**By the Traveler…**_He found himself nearly uttering, feeling all hope fading from him. The Grey Shadow hadn't been wearing a bolt-deflecting charm; Marik would have picked that out immediately. He just simply wasn't harmed by it…Wasn't hurt at all. He had resisted it.

Marik found his list of options dwindling fast. The Shadow let out a low chuckle and charged again, and Marik found himself backpedaling.

_**He can resist everything I know. Everything!**_ The thought was true enough, and it frightened him. Marik's devastating potential relied upon his magic's ability to get through. In one sobering moment, the Shadow had shattered his advantage.

It was no wonder he had chosen to strike at Morris first. The imp would have made all the difference in the world.

Marik jumped up again, this time for the side wall of the alley. Leaving the Shadow wondering exactly what he had planned, he pushed off of the brick surface and hurled himself across in the other direction, landing on the opposite wall several feet higher.

Intrigued, the Shadow watched as Marik wall-jumped his way up from the ground of the alley. The assassin furrowed his brow at that, slowly shaking his head. **You're no ordinary mage, I'll give you that. But I don't like a rabbit that runs.** Bracing his legs, the Grey Shadow jumped up after Marik, taking a course that set him on a reverse to the Sorceror.

Marik had thought his stunt, set to take him to the rooftops and on a run far, far away from the Shadow would leave him safe. He did not think that their fabled assassin would have the capability to follow him. In the middle of his fourth leap, the one that would allow him to clear the roofline and land atop the building safely, he saw the familiar blur of the Shadow turning up towards him, his skeletal faceplate carrying that empty grin. The shortswords waved in front of him, raised for the strike.

_**Blasted…**_

Marik reacted on instinct, summoning his Sorceror's hand forth again with the rabbit's foot hidden under his robes. Frantically, he sent the magical hand down and pushed the first swing, forcing the right shortsword, those jagged teeth all too menacing, to swerve inches in front of his face. He'd quickened the strike by the barest of margins, using a trick that the Shadow could not as easily ignore. The second blade came up towards him, ready to cut deep into his side. Marik swung with everything he had, and his longsword knocked the Shadow's second strike away.

They landed on opposite roofs, turning and staring down at one another with Marik's dark hood facelessly blank and the Shadow's mask just as expressionless. The Shadow seemed to pause, considering Marik for a few long moments, and the Sorceror did the same. After all, he thought to himself, it wasn't like the Shadow was afraid of his spellcasting. He had taken the full fury of it and marched out unscathed.

Somehow, staring at the assassin trying to kill him, Marik found himself stunned by the similarities. The both of them stood unnaturally high; Even at the distance between them, Marik estimated the Grey Shadow to stand nearly six and a half feet tall, just as tall, or perhaps even a little taller than he was.

Marik hid himself in long black robes and a cloak, and the Shadow existed in just the same obscurity, with that skeletal faceplate he wore. They both preferred the darkness.

There was fearful symmetry at play, as the moon glimmered above. Marik tried to calm down, reminding himself that whatever similarities he could observe in the Shadow's pose, size, and habits, they were two very different people. Still, something rested heavy on his mind.

The strange, hazy droning that scraped against his mind, trying so hard to find…To find _something_ hadn't gone away at all. It had only intensified, and there was no mistake, as nauseating and horrible as it felt, that it was the Shadow that was somehow doing it to him.

_**You're a monster…This world would be better off without you!**_ Marik thought, trying to collect his clarity, to fight back against the strange pressure on his brain.

The Grey Shadow only let out a low chuckle in the night, lifting a sword up to point it at Marik. The other he set at his own neck, mimicking a deep, head-severing slice as he drew it across his covered throat. At the last, he flopped his head sideways with a jerk, indicating total decapitation.

Marik's stomach turned against him as the Shadow laughed and put his swords back at his sides. The Shadow meant to kill him, but more than that. He meant to claim his head, the same way he did with every gruesome kill.

Stonily, Marik realized that the longer this fight dragged on, the more likely it was the Shadow would finish him off. He had only so many tricks, and no chance at all to destroy his quarry, not with his singular advantage eliminated.

Without his magic, Marik could not defeat the Shadow. He could only delay the inevitable. He needed help. Help, or a distraction big enough to send the Shadow back into flight.

With aggravating slowness, Marik reached his left sleeve down to his side, and to the scroll keeper he had traded for at the Bluestaff Guild. He tapped once, an unconscious thought deriving the scroll and spell that he wanted.

The Shadow looked on, amused as to what manner of trick the Sorceror would use. Surely, the assassin thought, the fellow realized by now that it was useless. His weak spells were no match for the resistance the Grey Shadow had developed.

The scroll keeper launched another roll of parchment with its usual _thunk_, and Marik caught it with his Sorceror's hand, letting it unroll beside him.

Growling as he stared at the words, Marik bent his left hand in the small motions it required. At the last, he raised his hand and fired off a dazzling bolt of red sparks into the sky, where it exploded in a shower of multicolored hues. The scroll burned the words away in smoke, and clattered to the ground uselessly as the green hand faded away.

The Shadow wondered for a moment just why Marik had not aimed it at him. Then he recognized it; not even a true spell, it was a minor cantrip, a firework. Designed to be used to dazzle an opponent and leave him temporarily blinded, Marik had used it for an entirely different end.

The explosion of magical light was both loud and brilliant. It drew attention to whoever used it.

It drew attention to them in the night, and only seconds later, the Grey Shadow could hear the cries of the distant sentries in Lightfell, the Sunrise Guardians out on patrol. Too late did the Shadow realize what Marik had done.

_**You may have the power to strike me down, but you are not in your element, and this is far from Istus.**_ Marik thought hazily, wondering if the Grey Shadow could hear him think it. Somehow, a burning sensation in the pit of his nauseated stomach told him the Shadow could do just that.

The assassin hissed at him, a sound inhuman and monstrous as the faceplate he wore.

Angrily, the Shadow realized he could no longer afford to deal with Marik in his usual fashion of cat and mouse. Not here, not in Lightfell, surrounded and chased by the mustering Sunrise Guardians. Already, he could make out their distant searchlights, perhaps two minutes away, but fast approaching.

**Clever, clever mage. Too clever. You wish the fight to end? Then we'll end it.**

The Grey Shadow's formulated plan, the product of a day's thought had crumbled all for the unexpected cunning of the one known as Marik Observant. He had wished to claim the Sorceror's life.

Looking down below, he could make out the crumpled form of Morris, still bleeding, still very close to death.

**If I can't kill you…then I'll destroy that which is most precious to you.**

The assassin shifted, jumping off of the building rooftop. Aghast, Marik watched as the Grey Shadow did not leap for him, but for the alley below, where Morris Redtail, his one true friend, the one soul who he trusted above all else, lay bleeding. The Shadow meant to kill Morris.

A guttural and hoarse scream exploded from Marik's throat. He leapt down towards the Shadow, no longer caring about his own life. No longer caring about how deep or how true those glimmering swords of the Shadow's could cut at him.

_**Not Morris, NEVER Morris, NO!**_

The Shadow heard the cry, the first clear sound the Sorceror had made around him in their entire fight. Grinning, he finished his drop, somersaulting and landing safely on his feet as the enshrouded mage came down at him, fury and panic guiding him.

The mage would be too late. The Shadow nearly laughed as he gripped one of his swords as a dagger, and stabbed down for the motionless, helpless, all too fragile devil lying wounded in the dirt. A splash of blood. A puff of smoke. And then the creature known as Morris would be killed, sent back to the Depths, and the Sorceror would be without his familiar.

The point of his blade struck home, but no blood erupted from the wound. Too late, the Shadow blinked in surprise as a blur of green, carrying the wounded imp aloft in its grip shot in the opposite direction.

Marik landed on the ground, his Sorceror's hand depositing Morris safely away inside of a pocket of his robes which sealed and vanished. Angrily, the assassin whirled on Marik, furious that he had been denied his kill, and worse, that the imp was beyond his reach.

**More magics. More tricks. But your tricks cannot save YOU, Sorceror!**

Marik swallowed, a dry swallow bereft of any benefit or surcease. The Grey Shadow seemed to glower at him, his shortswords up and pointed straight at him.

Marik readied the longsword poking out of his sleeve.

It ended here, one way or another. There would be no more tricks. No more wild maneuvers. No innocents for the Shadow to threaten.

Keenly aware that the Sorceror stood as tall as him, and was menacing to a slight degree, the Grey Shadow knew he still had one benefit the mysterious spellshaper did not.

He knew Marik was afraid.

They ran at each other, two specters in the night. Marik growled a low syllable, firing a blue ray down ahead of him, not at the Grey Shadow, but to the ground.

It exploded into a patch of ice in the assassin's path, sending the Shadow into a skidding tumble for the briefest of moments before his boots hit sturdy ground again. A moment was all Marik needed. Lunging forward, he used his Sorceror's hand and punched one shortsword away. The other turned up and sliced towards him, but Marik's thrust could not be denied.

The tip of the longsword scraped along the Shadow's side, slicing through the cloth armor and nicking him. The assassin's retaliatory strike, a wild backhanded swing from his left serrated blade gashed across the front of Marik's tunic, slicing through cloth, his mythril chainmail, and even the glowing green aura of his protective enchantment.

Wincing from the wound, a cut not deep enough to be critical but one that would bleed profusely, Marik jumped backwards with a silent curse.

The Shadow paused, turning his hidden face down to consider the slight injury Marik had inflicted on him. He didn't quite know how to react to it, puzzled as he watched the fabric of his cloth armor darken around the wound.

**Impossible,** he thought. **Nobody has been able to land a blow on me in five years. Nobody. **Bitterly, he turned to look at the exhausted, more injured mage. **And then you come along and **_**RUIN MY RECORD!**_

With an almost primal scream, the enraged Shadow charged at Marik once again. The Sorceror jumped backwards, deeper into the alley's recesses to avoid the first blow.

There was no avoiding the second, an overhanded swing powered with every bit of strength in the Shadow's right arm. Marik jumped backwards and felt his back slam into the wall, causing him to wince as he fell to the ground. Weakly, he lifted up his longsword, hoping he could block it and give himself a few precious moments to get his balance. Something, anything.

The serrated shortsword bit deep, swinging about Marik's blade and digging into his right arm. It cut through all the hidden gears and mechanisms inside of his sleeve that allowed Marik's hidden blade to function.

It cleaved past all the metal, and bit deep into his arm. With sick satisfaction, the Shadow drew his sword back, allowing his sword's sharpened teeth to slice through the flesh and muscle of Marik's forearm, cutting him to the bone.

Marik's shriek echoed in the night, and all his thoughts of resistance ended. Numbly, he tried to clutch the sleeve of his robe against the gash that had nearly severed his arm with his other covered hand…pulling up his other sleeve in the process. That thought was far from his mind, especially when the Shadow stabbed the point of his blade into his right shoulder for good measure.

Shivering and shuddering, Marik realized he was going to die here. He had fought the Grey Shadow and he had lost.

The Shadow pulled his shortsword back and let out an exhalation of breath. **Farewell, Mr. Observant.** He pulled his blade back, letting the moonlight glimmer along its edge. In a daze, Marik turned his hood up and focused his muddled, blurry eyes on the weapon aimed for his heart.

Marik drew in a ragged breath, expecting it to be his last. Yet at the last moment, something stayed the Shadow's hand.

The assassin froze in place when his eyes went down and saw something he had not expected to see. Marik's hand, discolored, misshapen, and slumped with the palm raised up towards the heavens, rested against the flat of the longsword strapped to his arm. The inhuman appendage twitched once.

Marik's hand had five long fingers and a thumb, purple and monstrous. They resembled claws more than the meaty fingers of most species.

The Grey Shadow recognized that hand, and he held his strike.

And then Marik felt something brush against his fluttering thoughts, an open curiosity. **Who are you?**

Numbly, he realized he hadn't thought it. Mustering what little sense he had left, he pegged it as just another part of the pulsing sensation that pushed against his own thoughts.

Again it came. **Who are you?! **The tone of the query grew impatient, and the shortsword's point rose and fell for emphasis.

Marik looked up, realizing it was the Grey Shadow himself who had uttered that sentence. No. He had not said it. Thought. Like the empathic connection he and Morris shared, it came. But it was darker, unwanted.

Marik didn't have the strength to answer. He didn't know how to stop the pulsing, searching waves that gave him a headache.

But he knew how to stop the more immediate intrusion. With no physical strength at all, he tapped into his mental reserves and closed his mind. If he was going to die, he did not want to die with the Shadow's dark laughter ringing in his thoughts.

The Grey Shadow's pressing question faded, as did his presence. Only the dull throb remained, leaving Marik all too aware, even if he had had his eyes closed, that the Shadow was still close.

_"Die, then."_ The Shadow rasped, tired of the hunt and tired of the Sorceror. He pulled his shortsword back, and Marik closed his eyes, regretting all the things he would never be able to do. All the things he would never be able to say.

All the people he would leave behind when he passed on into the next world. His stepfather. Ness. Orville. Morris.

_**Rachel…**_

Her name, uttered mentally, came with the most sadness, though he did not know why. He exhaled, and waited for death to come.

It didn't.

"You there! _Drop your swords_!" Came a shout from beyond. Numbly, Marik opened his eyes and looked up again.

The Shadow was turned, hissing softly as two fully armored and armed sentries, the Sunrise Guardians of Lightfell in full regalia leveled their crossbows at him.

"I won't ask again!" The first sentry barked harshly, face hidden behind his helmet. "Drop your weapons, or you will be shot!"

In the corridors of his mind, the Grey Shadow was very, _very_ agitated. The night had begun so well, and now it was ruined. Ruined by the tricks and talents of Marik Observant, and now the Shadow knew why. It had less to do with what Marik was capable of.

It had everything to do with what he _was._

The Grey Shadow's reputation was everything to him. And now this…this insufferable little whelp in the world had marred it. Not once, in all his years of being an assassin had he ever failed in an assignment.

Marik had the distasteful designation as being, with the exception of that fool known as the Cursed Blade, the only soul ever to survive the Shadow's wrath.

_"Another time."_ Came his curt dismissal to the dying mage. The sword pulled away, and the Grey Shadow took to the air, jumping straight up and clearing the roofline, fading into the distance with soft footfalls and endless speed.

"By the Shining One!" One of the Guardians swore, stunned. "Did you see that?!"

"I don't think I'd believe it if I hadn't." Came his cohort's reply. Marik looked over to them as they tucked their crossbows away, shaking their heads. "You there! Are you all right?"

Dully, Marik was aware of them coming closer. The Shadow had spared him out of necessity, not wanting to risk an engagement with the specially trained defenders of Lightfell. But even that false mercy would do him no good if they came close enough and discovered him.

_**Ness…Rachel…I have to…I have to get to Rachel…**_He thought briefly, though it was growing hard, as tired as he was, to form cohesive thoughts. He felt tired and his arm burned and his shoulder burned and Morris was still tucked away in the enchanted pocket of his robes. His silvered longsword's mechanism was badly broken, and in need of repairs. What the mage did not comprehend, in his muddled thoughts, was that he was bleeding to death. That was why he was so tired.

He began to growl again, calling upon his innate power. In a few moments, while the Guardians were still feet away on the approach, he vanished in a spell of invisibility.

"What in the…Where did he go?!" The first Guardian exclaimed, startled enough to drop his lantern.

"He vanished, that's what he did." The second admonished him. "Strange. It must've been some odd tussle between those two."

The first Guardian looked around at the four corpses left in the alley, whistling appreciatively. "It was more than the two of them, I'm thinking. Do you know these men?"

His counterpart furrowed his brow. "These look like some of the boys in Dobson's gang. Low-level pickpockets, mostly. I didn't know they had a violent streak in them."

Kneeling down and checking their pockets, the first Guardian found a handful of coins dutifully tucked away. "Well, if they didn't before, somebody paid them to." He murmured, holding the currency up into the moonlight. "Too bad they never got a chance to spend it."

"But what about that man that jumped up and out of here?" The second inquired anxiously. "Shouldn't we go after him?"

"The entire town's been alerted by now, boy." His superior directed coolly. "He won't find a place to hide in Lightfell. If he's smart, he'll flee and never return."

"And the man in the black robes who disappeared?" The second Guardian continued.

His superior considered that for a moment and shrugged. "If he turns up again, he turns up. If not, then it's a good thing. This city gets enough trouble without instigators and mysterious figures." He shrugged it off and led his comrade out of the alley, staring blankly ahead. "Come on, we'd best wake up some of the hospitalers in Dawn's Gleam. They'll want to prepare the bodies for burial, and I'd particularly like to have them use their divine influence to determine exactly what took place here tonight."

That was the end of that conversation. Marik Observant was all but forgotten for the bigger problems in their heads. If they had bothered to stare a little more closely about the scenery, they would have found it easy to chase after the Sorceror, invisible as he was. He left behind a trail of blood.

It led south.

* * *

><p><em>The Frozen Tabard Inn<em>

The innkeeper's wife had gone to bed after checking the fire one last time, leaving Ness Benson to sit alone in the parlor and think of Rachel. They were deep, swirling thoughts that dragged him under and drowned him in the possibilities. She was everything a man could ask for; talented, funny, and beautiful enough to even make the gods look twice. That last part was more embellishment by himself, but he stood by it.

Idly, he traced a finger against his lips again, feeling a sudden desire for something sweet he couldn't explain until he remembered, in his muzzy thoughts, that she had tasted like clover honey.

_I suppose that you're going to lose our little bet, Orville. _

He was so wrapped up wondering what would happen the next time he tried to kiss Rachel, he didn't hear the first knocks on the inn door, as slow and soft as they were.

He vaguely heard the second set of knocks, just as soft, but a little quicker and less coincidental. He turned about and glanced towards the door, curiously staring.

"What the…"

A third series of knocks came through, almost desperately this time. Ness got up and began to walk over to it. He didn't move fast enough, though, because he could hear the barest wheezing growl before the deadbolt on the door clicked open, and the door swung in.

Turning to face the open doorway, Ness stared out into the night, aided with the flickering light from the parlor's fireplace.

A large figure, dressed all in black wearing a hood stood there, his right side hanging lower than his left, breathing shallowly as he came inside.

Ness relaxed as he recognized the man. "Oh, Marik, you finally made it ba…"

The swordsman froze, staring closer at Marik as he entered into the inn, and into the firelight. The Sorceror had a clear gash across his stomach, and the black fabric was darkened about the cut. The mage's right shoulder was just as bad, as if someone had stabbed him, and his right arm…

Marik's longsword was extended out of his sleeve, which was ripped apart, colored just as dark as his other wounds. Worst of all was the steady trail of blood that was dripping down his arm from the wound, sliding along the longsword and dropping into a puddle that only grew in size.

"By the gods, Marik…" Ness paled. "What happened?!"

Marik's breathing was still shallow, which didn't help him at all. Vaguely, Ness remembered Marik's 'permanent injury', the reason why Morris was so talkative all the time.

From behind his back, Marik's glowing Sorceror's hand floated over to Ness and handed him a barely breathing, and just as injured Morris Redtail.

"Solares have mercy." Ness breathed. "Is he…"

Feeling tired enough that it was a struggle to even stay awake, Marik knew Morris couldn't speak for him. He only hoped that Ness would be just as understanding as Rachel.

_"The Grey Shadow…ambushed us…"_ Marik wheezed. _"Morris…Rachel…"_

He could go no farther than that. The blood loss finally overtook him, and he succumbed to his injuries. The green hand blinked out of existence, and only a quick dive by Ness spared the badly wounded imp from further harm in the fall. Marik slumped to his knees, then collapsed onto his stomach.

Swearing to himself, Ness lay the imp down on Marik's back and charged up the stairs towards the inn's bedrooms. He found Rachel's door and pounded insistently. All the while, a familiar fear and terror began to consume him, and he offered up a plea.

_Please let them live, PLEASE let them live, I'm not the Cursed Blade, I'm NOT!_

He couldn't fight the rising guilt. If they did die, there would be no escaping it.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Came Rachel's irritated voice at last.

"Hurry, Rachel!"

"Ness, for Calyssa's sake, stop shouting already!" Rachel chastised him. "I'm getting dressed as fast as I can!" Inside, he could hear her stumbling about, even tripping over a piece of furniture with a small curse for added measure.

Finally, her hair bedridden and bedraggled, her eyes tired and frustrated, and covered in a red satin robe that showed the top of her blue nightgown at the neck of the robe, Rachel opened her room's door and gave Ness a death glare. "What?" She demanded. "What do you want, Ness?"

The old swordsman would have found her beautiful, seeing her like that in a different moment. He paid little attention to it now.

"Marik and Morris." He insisted urgently, his face drawn and pale. "They're badly hurt."

Rachel's irritation melted into worry and shock. "Oh no. Are they…"

"Downstairs. Hurry!" Ness barked, turning the other direction and running. Rachel followed after him, leaving her door open in her haste.

Marik and Morris hadn't really moved from where Ness had left them, though the innkeeper and his wife had come out in their nightclothes with a candle. They let out a brief cry when they saw the man and imp bleeding to death all over their carpet, but Ness and Rachel were there in an instant.

"Please, tell me we're not too late." Ness exhaled, standing back as Rachel ran to Marik's side and held her hands over them. "Please, _please…"_

"They're fading fast." Rachel uttered, biting her lip. "Rosequeen, give me the strength…"

Her hands glowed a bright blue, enveloping the imp in the suffusing light. Ness watched with relief as the gash in his wing began to seal itself, and the tiny devil groaned, moving once again.

"Oh, crackers." The imp muttered, putting a clawed hand to his still sore forehead. "What in the…" His eyes opened wide when he began to remember the few events leading up to his injury. "My wing!" He shrieked, looking to it, but the gash was gone. Breathing in and out, the rest of it came back to him. "Oh, no. Marik?" The imp took up into the air, looking around until he discovered that his friend was lying facedown on the ground, his precious lifeblood soaking into the carpet. "Marik!" The imp cried out.

"Shut up already!" Rachel barked at him, frantic. "I can't concentrate if you're howling like that, Morris!" Snubbed, the imp floated over and rested on Ness' shoulder, watching in horror as his friend continued to fade.

Rachel calmed her breathing and held her hands over the Sorceror. "Come back, Marik. Please, come back…" The blue glow of her healing spell overtook his form, and after a few moments, the Sorceror began to stir, groggy and sluggish.

"Rachel." Morris exhaled, and the Calyssan realized as she turned to look at the imp that it was Marik speaking through him. "I didn't think…I didn't think we'd make it in time."

Relieved that his allies were alive, but remembering what little Marik had said, Ness stepped forward. "Just what happened?"

Sluggishly, Marik pushed himself up and off of the ground with his left hand, still hidden within his sleeve. His right arm dangled uselessly at his side, and the sword scraped the carpet until he was upright. _"The Grey Shadow."_ He rasped, and Morris let out a surprised grunt.

"Boss, you're…You can't talk, remem…"

Numbly, Marik seemed to sway back and forth, his injuries still present even with Rachel's suffusing effect. _"He set up an ambush for us."_ He continued, ignoring Morris' warning.

Ness nodded, a little thrown off by the voice, but not terrified. "No wonder you let Morris do the talking for you. That old injury of yours makes your voice sound horrendous."

Wounded by the comment, Marik fell silent, and Morris picked up the conversation.

"Four bandits tried to take us down. We survived the attempt, but the Grey Shadow was watching us. Waiting. He came down at the end of it and nearly killed Morris in one swing." The imp shuddered at that and reverted to his own voice. "Boss, are you serious? You mean I could've…"

The Sorceror said nothing, still dripping blood down out of his right sleeve. Moving with painstaking slowness, he pushed past his allies and the innkeeper, marching towards the stairs leading to the bedrooms. Morris fluttered over to his shoulder and turned to look at them.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. For now, all I want to do is sleep. And Ness, you might want to alert the Guardians." Morris said, passing on Marik's final message.

He moved up the steps, bleeding with every foot of the trek.

Ness' face darkened. "Damn him." He murmured angrily. "Damn the Shadow."

Rachel squeezed his hand, drawing his eyes towards Marik with a motioning hand. "Ness, he's still hurt. I have to…"

"Go." Ness urged her. "Take care of that stubborn mage. I have an alarm to raise." The swordsman gave an angry shake of his head. "In Lightfell! Even in this place, he can strike?" Disgusted with himself, no longer able to be worried, Ness ran out of the inn to rouse the Guardians.

Rachel drew the straps of her robe tighter around her, keenly aware that she was only wearing her nightgown underneath. She shivered until Ness closed the inn's front door after him.

The innkeeper wandered over to her, dragging his wife along. "Lass, is your friend going to be all right?"

"He'll live." Rachel promised the man, a steely resolve in her blue eyes. She offered an apologetic shrug as she glanced at all the bloodstains Marik had left. "As for your carpet, though…"

"Bah." The innkeeper's wife snorted. "Blood, I can handle. I'm just glad you and your friends didn't get sick and drunk all over the place. That happened a few years back, and it took me weeks to get it all scrubbed out." Rachel smiled and gave a small curtsy.

"Thank you."

"Aah, it's nothing." The older woman yawned. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to get back to bed now. We'll see you in the morning, dearie."

"Good night." Rachel answered, turning and marching back up the steps.

She only hoped Marik hadn't passed out again.

As it turned out, the mage had only then reached the door to his room, and was slumped against the wall more than he was actively opening it. Just as Rachel came up to see him, he growled in frustration and seemed to shift his left hand inside of his sleeve. The door opened without complaint, moved by his simple cantrip.

"Marik!" Rachel called over to him. The Sorceror and imp looked over to her, the little devil more possessed of his senses than Marik was. "Marik, just what do you think you're doing?" She asked, shaking her head.

_"Going to bed."_ Came the weary response.

"Oh no, you're not." She said sternly. "You're still injured. I need to take a look at your wounds yet."

_I need to take a look…_

What she had said made Marik's blood, or what little of it wasn't spurting out of the horrendous injury in his right arm, stop cold.

_"You can heal it tomorrow. I'll patch it up tonight, and…"_

"Marik, you're still bleeding!" She admonished him, amazed at his stubbornness. She motioned to the floor beside him, where droplets of red still collected. "You're in no condition to tend to your own wounds…_and don't think _that I'm going to let you use that 'I was trained by clerics' excuse!" She finished angrily. "You nearly got yourself killed out there tonight, and I'm not going to have you die in your sleep because you're too pigheaded to let me do my job. Give me a chance, Marik. That's all I'm asking."

Marik and Morris threw each other a glance, and the imp shrugged, as much as it pained him to say it. "There isn't much I can do for you, boss. She's kinda right on this one."

Sighing in frustration, Marik shook his hooded head. _"Fine. But the robes stay. You'll have to fix me as I am."_

Biting her lip, Rachel folded her arms against her chest. "We'll see." She said, not promising anything. She motioned with a nudge of her head to her own door. "Come on. My medical supplies are in here."

Seeing no easy way out, Marik managed to keep himself from sighing again. _"Go ahead and get some sleep, Morris. This will take a while."_

The imp stared hard at him. _Boss, you had better know what you're doing. _

_**Morris, my right arm won't move, my shoulder is on fire, and I'm pretty sure pieces of my longsword's mechanism are ground into my arm and **__scraping against my bones.__** At this point, I'm amazed I can even think clearly at all.**_

Morris Redtail winced. _Point taken. All I'm saying is, you have to be careful._

_**Of dying?**_

_Of letting her get too close. _The imp quoted gravely. _So she puts up with your voice. But you know as well as I do the rest of you would scare her to death._

_**There are worse monsters than what I am, Morris. We were nearly killed by one.**_

_That's it, though. People like Ness and Rachel _fight_ monsters, they don't work with them. Remember what your father told us. Out here, we're the only two people we can count on to be there for each other._

_**I haven't forgotten. Go get some sleep, Morris. I'll see you in a bit.**_

All in all, their magical telepathic interchange took nearly fifteen seconds. The imp flew inside of Marik's room, dejectedly muttering some offhanded curse and a few things about crackers before disappearing from view.

Marik willed the door to close with a wave of his sleeve, then pushed himself off of the wall and stumbled towards Rachel. He nearly slipped a few times, and once his leg came dangerously close to cutting himself open on his still extended sword. Gasping, Rachel ran over to him and braced herself against his uninjured left side.

"You're worse off than you let on." She said mutedly, grunting a bit as Marik slumped against her for support.

Marik let out a feeble laughing wheeze, somewhat delirious.

_I'm alive. He should have killed me. He could have killed me._

_ I couldn't even slow him down. I was…_

_ I was too weak._

"Marik?" Rachel asked, as she opened her door and helped pull him in. "Are you going to be all right?" The tone in her voice was concerned, and he knew instantly she wasn't talking about his battered, bleeding body.

She meant his spirit.

He had been utterly bested in every regard. All his training, all his practice, all his magic…Useless. Marik felt like crying, as it seemed like a perfectly natural thing to do. He'd barely lived, and even now, if Rachel had not been here, he would have died of his wounds. The burning in his right arm pulled him temporarily from his delirium, reminding the hiccoughing mage of the still present danger.

Marik didn't cry. He was too tired to try at it. Sluggishly dragging one boot after the other, he let the young Calyssan pull him into her room, where she would heal him.

"Are you going to be all right?" Rachel asked again, as she set him down in a chair by her room's table to rest, walking back to her door to close and lock it.

Marik shut his eyes, no longer feeling the dull throb of the Grey Shadow's presence, but knowing he would be haunted by it for the rest of his numbered days.

_"I don't know anymore."_ He answered feebly.

The Shadow's question rose up from all his latent thoughts, burning bright and accusing.

**Who are you?**

_"I don't know."_

* * *

><p>"Marik, you can put your sword away." Rachel suggested, after she had opened up her medical kit and stared over to him. "I don't think you'll need it in here."<p>

Marik laughed until his injuries burned to remind him of his predicament again. _"If I could retract it, I would."_ He finally said, his voice as ashen and quiet as he assumed his hidden face was. He gritted his teeth as he felt a breeze of air from Rachel's window sneak up his sleeve and blow across the mangled flesh. _"Can you close your window?"_ He asked.

"Yes, I can. Would it make you more comfortable?"

_"Infinitely." _The Sorceror replied with a hidden grimace.

Rachel got up and walked over to her room's window, closing it and turning back around. "Is that better?"

His arm still burned, but there wasn't the sensation that his bones were exploding, so Marik nodded his assent. Satisfied, the healer brushed her hair back and went back to her medical kit. "Just what did you mean…if you could, you would?"

Marik tried to move his arm, but the effort only exacerbated the wounds, especially the one in shoulder. Letting out a strangled gasp, Marik let the limb fall limp again and slumped into his chair.

_"The Shadow…Sliced apart my sword's mechanisms, along with most of my arm. I can't get it to work anymore."_

Rachel paled, considering the gash in his sleeve in a new light. "You…Your arm?"

A bit more blood, seeping down his longsword from the rough clot he had thrown open by moving his arm, made the point a bit more visible. _"If you could use a spell on it, I'd be grateful."_

Rachel considered it for a moment, but shook her head. "I can't. Not without cleaning out the wound first." She pulled out a set of forceps, then detached the kit's lid. It doubled into a long, flat pan.

Marik found that option terribly unacceptable. _"No."_ He murmured, giving his head the barest shake. _"I can't let you."_

Rachel paused and gave him a frown. "Marik, if I heal your injury without making sure it's clean and free of debris, then whatever's gotten into your wound will be stuck there. You would get infected. That's something I can't let happen."

The mage shut his eyes. _"I don't want you looking at it. Give me the forceps. Leave, and I'll do it myself."_

Rachel nearly snorted in frustration before she stopped herself, remembering that she was a lady, and did not use such crude gestures. "Marik, you're not thinking straight. For your own sake, just let me do my job. You can barely move your arm! What makes you think you could manage the kind of delicate surgery you're going to need to clean your wound?!"

_"Nothing." _He shot back testily. _"But it would be better if I did it myself, Rachel."_

Angrily, she slammed the detached lid of her medical kit on the table next to his arm. "Blast it, Marik! Why are you being so damn stubborn?! It's like you want to die!"

_"I'd rather die than have you be __**afraid of me**__!" _He roared back, almost hissing. That outburst cost him though, as the pain in his right arm and shoulder flared up again. Groaning, he slouched a little farther into his chair.

Rachel bit her lip at that, her angry blue eyes dimming to a hurt expression. "Why would I be afraid of you?" She asked, quiet and hurt.

Marik said nothing, even as his head began to swim again.

_"Because." _He said simply. _"Because everyone who's ever seen me…Has been afraid of me. Because I'm a monster."_

"You're not a monster." She argued. "Just because you had an accident when you were little…"

_"It wasn't an accident." _Marik interrupted her, his voice cracking. _"I…I just am the way I am." _

Rachel's eyes widened. "You lied to us?"

The Sorceror seemed to almost shrink on himself. _"I'm glad I did. If you had known…No, Ness would have never let me sign on. You wouldn't have trusted me." _He breathed shallowly for a moment, then shook his head. _"Everyone who's ever seen me has been afraid. Even the Grey Shadow…He had me lying there, in the alley. There was no way out. The only thing that made him stop…was that he saw my hand."_

Marik said nothing for a few moments, absorbing what he had just said in. _"He was frightened of __**me**__. Just as you would be. I was born looking the way I do, Rachel. And I don't want to lose everything because you…"_

The girl arched an eyebrow. "Because I what?"

_"Because you saw what I really looked like, and became afraid of me." _Marik answered softly. _"So please…please, don't force me."_

Rachel put the forceps down on the table beside him, and pulled up another chair to stare at him. "Marik." The mage said nothing. "Marik, look at me."

Numbly, Marik did. Rachel's blue eyes shimmered in the light of the room, shining out from her bedpost she had enchanted with her incandescent prayer. "Do you trust me?" Her voice was quiet, timid, and sad, and Marik found himself wanting nothing more than to keep her from growing any sadder.

_"More than most." _He said hesitantly. Rachel closed and opened her eyes, then looked to his bloody, ragged sleeve.

"Then trust me now." She continued. "Nothing could make you a monster in my eyes. Not how you sound, not what you can do, and not what your hand looks like." Gently, she reached over and rested her hand on the edge of his right sleeve, feeling his hand underneath. Marik froze at her touch. "Trust me." She said again, entreatingly.

Marik's breathing was soft and inaudible somehow matching with her own pace. _Trust me._ How she said it…she meant more than just trusting her enough to tend to his wounds.

She wanted him to trust her with the truth. With his identity. Would she run? Would she pale and become distant the moment she knew? Marik did not know. But he could hope. He could always hope.

Slowly, the skin of his left hand nearly electric with what he was about to do, he reached over with his good arm and put his covered hand down on hers.

Rachel's hand jumped a little as she felt his fingers slide against her wrist, feeling her small grip and guiding it off of his sleeve.

_…Her skin felt so soft, so warm, he could have touched it all day…_

With that damningly sweet hand of hers moved away from his arm, he gripped at the hem of his robe's right sleeve and slowly pulled. Gritting his teeth as the fabric bunched up against the bloodclotted gash in his forearm, Marik kept pushing it back, refusing to cry out from the pain.

Inch by inch, he pulled it back…Until his hand was revealed. Lying against his extended longsword, twitching from the few sensations his arm's nerves could still provide, Marik looked down at the hand he had come to hate so much.

There were the spindly fingers that were more like claws, and six fingers instead of five. A set of metal rings were on his fingers, attached to taut wires that went up into his sleeve. The skin was tightly drawn against the bone and muscle, and it twitched again, then fell silent.

Rachel said nothing. She didn't even gasp when he revealed it. She just stared down, her gentle blue eyes never moving once from the sight of it.

Marik waited, expecting that gaping stare to become a look of horror and recognition. He waited for her to scream and run out.

She didn't, though. Gently, she traced his long index finger with her own, nodding slowly. "You're not a monster." She uttered softly, looking back up to him as she squeezed it gently, lifting it away from the sword. "It doesn't matter what you look like." She concluded.

_"But I…How can you say that?"_

"I've seen you." She reminded him, with the surprising wisdom she hid behind those young eyes. "I've seen your heart. And that's the part that matters most. Inside, you are beautiful." She smiled. "The rest is just your form."

Marik wanted to laugh, or cry. He wanted to pull his hand away and run to his room, because he had gone for so long without ever hearing such things, almost never, even for all the love Rodian had given him in his youth. He wanted to be anywhere but here, where he felt his cold, walled heart breaking with her simple gaze and gentle words.

He could hear Morris' passing warning, fresh on his mind. _You and I are the only two people we can count on…You know as well as I do that the rest of you would scare her to death._

That had been truth. It had been a foundation of his life, the essence of it. Still coming to grips with his reaffirmed mortality and the evil of the Grey Shadow, Marik felt his beliefs slipping away from him. Suddenly, his ordered world had been turned upside down, and he struggled to cling to something.

_…And if he could cling to her, if she would let him, he might not drown…_

Marik closed his eyes, refusing to cry. She wouldn't. He couldn't. _"You're a strange woman, Rachel."_

"And you're a strange man." She remarked, glancing to the longsword. "Is there any way to get this off?"

Relieved to push past the emotional turbulence she had unleashed, Marik returned to his ordered thoughts and shook his hooded head. _"Normally, I take it off after I remove my robes, but…" _Feebly, he motioned with his good hand, which he pushed out of his elongated sleeve as well, to his shoulder. _"I can't move my arm."_

Rachel drew in a whistling breath between her teeth as he said that. "You crazy fool." She muttered. "You can't move your arm and you thought you could patch yourself up?"

_"It was the better alternative at the time." _He explained hastily.

"And now?" She accused, her soft and bedridden brown hair dancing about her head with a life of its own.

_"Cut the entire sleeve off." _Marik said with a sigh.

"Cut it off?!"

_"I can sew it back on later. Or you can mend it, if you want. But you won't be able to roll up my sleeve, not without making me pass out." _He said hoarsely.

Rachel went back to her medical kit and pulled out a set of sharp scissors. Walking back over and standing at his wounded shoulder, she lowered the blades down against the fabric. "Are you sure?" She asked again.

_"Do it." _He said, in no mood for hesitation. The blood loss was beginning to become more pronounced, and unless she hurried up, he would pass out again whether he wanted to or not.

Giving a soft harrumph, she began to cut about his arm, careful not to nick it any worse than it already was. "Funny." She said, keeping the conversation going as she finished the arc. "I didn't know you knew how to sew."

_"Remember, I was…" _

"I know, I know. Raised by bards." She said with a sigh. "Honestly, is that your excuse for every obscure little thing you do and know?"

_"Mostly." _He said, wishing he could put more humor into the response.

She finished her cutting and gripped around the jagged edge of his severed sleeve. "Ready?"

Marik braced himself against the chair, knowing full well this next part was going to hurt. _"When you get to the forearm, pull hard. It's going to stick."_ He rasped.

Rachel paled a little bit, but said nothing as she began to tug the sleeve down, reversing it inside out as she went.

Just as Marik had predicted, the sleeve caught on the edge of the jagged and deep gash the Grey Shadow had left through his sword's launching mechanism and flesh. She grunted and pulled harder, and the sleeve came with the briefest noise of a rip, as the damp and bloody cloth pulled away from the wound.

Marik let out a wheeze, his right arm burning all the worse. He forced himself through the pain by the barest of margins, weakly collapsing after that moment of sudden pressure.

Rachel dropped the ruined sleeve to the ground and stared at the ruined mechanism. Beyond it, she could see a deep gash into his arm, but with the leather straps, the guiding rail, and all the other pieces of his longsword's launching device in the way, she couldn't make a clear determination beyond the fact his arm was losing blood at an alarming rate.

_"Undo…the straps…" _Marik wheezed, feeling weaker than before. The sleeve hadn't felt good, but it had absorbed most of his blood and acted like a bandage when he had none. Without it, the blood came fresh and bright all over again.

"Stay with me." Rachel pleaded with him, her soft, small hands working over the banded straps and undoing them one by one. His blood mixed in her fingers and filled in the lines of her palms, but she didn't care. Marik was fading fast, and unless she moved…

The last strap came undone, and the assembly dropped to the ground with a wet clatter. It pulled on his hand, attached by thin wires to the rings about his fingers. Carefully, she pulled every ring off, and his arm went limp without the weight. Rachel reached for her forceps and stared down at the gash in his arm, able to see it clearly for the first time.

She nearly fainted herself, for as white as she became at the sight of it. "Rosequeen help me." Rachel Ashbury breathed, looking towards his hidden face in disbelief. "He cut you to the bone!"

_"No wonder my arm burned so much." _The mage commented, coughing after his attempt at humor. His words were sluggish, and he was beginning to slump to the side. Letting out a gasp, Rachel set a hand against his arm and channeled her healing powers forth once more.

The bloodflow stopped, and his breathing became more regular as the suffusing blue glow of her curative spell went to work inside of him, but the jagged gash in his arm stayed open.

She shook her head back and forth. "It's a worse injury than I thought." She paused and looked at him. "You won't die on me if I get some other things, will you?"

_"Not in the next two minutes, at least." _Marik remarked with a ragged shake of his head. _"What are you getting?" _

"A washbasin, and a clean cloth." She answered, setting the forceps down on the table again and walking over to her supplies. "I have to clean out your wound before I can do anything else."

Marik nodded in assent and she went back to her kit. She came back with a needle and a spool of unusual thread, and a pair of washcloths thrown over her shoulder. The lid of her healing kit, which doubled as a washbasin, was tucked under her arm.

"Marik, this next part can get a little…" She began, considering the word, "Painful. Do you want me to brew you some numbroot tea first?"

_"What are you going to do?"_

"After I clean out your wound, I'm going to sew it shut." Rachel explained. "And that's probably going to sting."

_"I prefer to keep my wits about me. Just do it." _He rasped.

She shook her head at him. "You're a stubborn one, you know that?"

_"Stubborn enough. So are you going to conjure up some water for that basin of yours, or…" _

"Of course I'm going to conjure some water." Rachel replied. "I need it to be clean and pure for this. I don't want to risk getting you infected any more than you already are."

She lifted his injured arm up and carefully put it on the table, resting on the first of her soft rags. Resting her hands over the empty basin, she concentrated for a moment and exhaled, and it filled up with a glimmering, pure water.

Marik fell silent, watching as she gently folded the second cloth and soaked it in the water. Careful not to squeeze out too much of the water as she pulled it up, she picked up his torn arm and reached towards the wound with the cloth.

"Ordinarily, I'd begin by going for the debris, but I just can't see a thing in here. I'm going to have to flush it a bit, all right?"

_"Do what you have to." _He answered, not particularly caring. He was dizzy, but for a change, the burning in his arm wasn't the sensation he was focused on.

Her touch nearly sent electric sparks up his oversensitive arm, those gentle fingers barely caressing the discolored flesh as she held it up.

She squeezed the cloth, and the water dripped down into the gash, carrying away some of the blood and searing his revealed bone. Despite himself, Marik hissed between gritted teeth. Rachel looked up to him, worried.

_"Finish it." _He uttered, promising himself that he would not pass out.

She washed out his wound twice more, with the same flaring pain before it was clean enough that she could make out debris.

"You were right." She murmured, reaching for the forceps. "There's pieces of your gadget in this. But I think I can get them out."

_"Better that than having them rattle in my arm the rest of my life."_ Marik commented with a soft rasp.

She furrowed her eyebrows as she lowered the forceps down. The first bit of shrapnel came out, a splinter of wood that had buried itself down. Marik didn't jump or wince in the slightest. Next came a bit of metal from the rail, and then a small gear.

"Just who made this thing?" She murmured, pulling out another sliver of metal.

_"Me, mostly." _Marik explained. _"The original design was something that the gnomes had come up with; Theirs was essentially a true launcher, though. They used it to throw daggers. Figuring out how to make a sectional longsword that would extend, stay in place, and then retract proved to be difficult."_

"It must have taken you some time." Rachel commented, pulling out another splinter of wood.

_"About a year's worth of tinkering."_ Marik replied grimly.

"A year?"

_"I had nothing but time on my hands." _He shrugged. _"Repairing it is going to take me a while. There are some parts to it I can't use magic to fix."_

Rachel threw a glance at the discarded assembly lying on the floor. "He swung with everything he had, didn't he?"

_"A reasonable assumption." _Came the dour reply. _"He was trying to kill me."_

"Then be thankful you were using this instead of a real weapon." Rachel said, digging for another piece. "It probably saved your arm."

The thought made Marik shudder. That was a dangerous thought, indeed.

_"I should have fought harder." _He said bitterly. _"I…I froze up. I was stupid."_

"Do you honestly think that I could have done any better?" Rachel interrupted him. "That Ness could have done any better? He would have killed any of us!"

_"Nothing I threw at him worked, Rachel. Nothing." _Marik admitted, remembering how his magic had just bounced off of him. _"I can't fight the Shadow. Magic…Magic doesn't work on him."_

She didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything for a while. About a minute later, her forceps came out of the thick wound in his forearm, and she set them aside. "That's everything. The wound is empty again." Came her timid voice. "I'm going to clean out the edges a little more, then I'll sew the wound shut."

_"And…the rest of it?" _Marik considered, wondering what she would do about the severed muscles and tendons.

"The rest of it my magic can handle." She assured him. The funny thing was, he believed her.

_"Will I be able to use my arm again after this?"_

"I'd take it easy on your arm tomorrow, but…Yes, you'll be fine." She replied. "I got to this soon enough. Thankfully, it hadn't begun to get worse."

Marik breathed out a sigh of relief. Not only was he not dead, he wouldn't be crippled, either. _"You're something else, you know that?" _He rasped appreciatively.

The tired healer gave him a smile. "Tell me that tomorrow when I'm more awake, would you?" She finished prepping her sewing needle and lowered it down to his arm.

_"I'll try to remember." _Marik rumbled. He winced as she made the first thread, and could feel the tight knotted end of the stitching tug at his sensitive skin. _"Aaah…!" _He hissed briefly. Rachel's eyes flickered once to his hood, but then went back to her work, concentrating entirely on the task at hand. _"Are you sure that you've done this before?" _He queried, thinking she was pulling a little too hard on the string.

"Once, yes." She replied with a chirp. "He didn't complain as much."

_"Why?" _Marik posed, grimacing as the first quarter inch of his wound was pulled back together. _"Were his senses stunted on numbroot?"_

"No, actually." Rachel answered. "He was dead."

Marik froze at that, until Rachel gave him a smile. "Relax, Marik. We used corpses to practice our healing arts back in Knighthold. After all, it made more sense than hurting somebody just to try and sew them up."

_"Ah." _

She giggled, continuing to thread his grisly wound. "I think I had you worried there for a moment."

_"Am I that transparent?" _He said dryly. _"So when will it be safe to pull these out?"_

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that." She answered. "This is elven vanish stitch. It will hold as long as it needs to, and once it's finished its purpose, your body will just break it down and absorb it."

The name clicked in Marik's mind. _"I've heard of it. It's an export from Feleen. Just where did you get it?"_

"In the market, at Westshire." She smiled, not surprised that he knew of it. "Back when I was with the rest of my missionary group."

_"I…I imagine you miss them some days."_

She paused her needlework for a second. "Some days." She resolved, going back to work.

Becoming used to the not so gentle pricks of her sewing work, Marik exhaled. _"It's funny."_

"What is?"

_"That you left them to pursue your own destiny. Your own life worth living."_ The Sorceror remarked. _"It's turned out for the better, really." _

"I'd like to think so." Rachel mused, pulling together the last bit of his gashed skin. "I've made some good friends." She looked up and gave one of her charming, innocent smiles. It was almost enough to make Marik forget the pain before she gave one last hard tug on the needle.

"There." She remarked, tying off the end of the threat and cutting away the excess. "That should hold your arm into place while I finish healing it."

_"Don't forget the shoulder." _Marik reminded her. _"It's probably not as bad off as my arm, but…"_

"I know, I know." She sighed. "Hold on." The blue glow returned to her hands, and she ran them down his arm, starting at his shoulder and moving down until her fingers brushed against his. The blue light poured off of her hands like a soothing vapor, sinking into his arm and washing away all the weariness and the fire in his nerves. Even though he couldn't see it, he could feel the stab in his shoulder begin to seal up. By the time her hands reached his more grievous wound, he could feel the curious sensation of his flesh and muscle knitting back over his exposed bone. The stitches glowed for a moment as his arm returned to normal, then disappeared, leaving only a thin pale scar where the gash had been. At last, he began to feel like himself.

When she rested her hand flat against the back of his, and Marik found he was able to turn his hand over and squeeze it, he felt perfect.

_"Thank you." _He uttered. Rachel gave him one of her soft smiles as he pulled his hand back, flexing and unflexing it with satisfaction. The tendon in his wrist pulled tight, and once again, he was made aware of his distinction.

She must have caught him glancing at it, because she took his hand between hers and gave it a squeeze. "It's just a hand, Marik. Nothing more, and nothing less."

Her touch electrified him still, but Marik closed his eyes, a moment of sadness spoiling that perfect vision. _"When you say that, I can almost believe you." _He answered, not moving to pull his hand back.

Rachel Ashbury, the 16 year old Calyssan healer lost in a world she was not from, found herself wishing for a moment she could look into that darkened hood of his and see his eyes. But she would not push his hood back; To do so would violate all the trust she had been slowly building with him, inch by stubborn inch.

"Marik…I don't care how you look." She said, her blue eyes searching.

_"I want to believe you, Rachel…But I can't show you." _He said softly, and she knew that he meant his face, however scarred or misshapen it was. _"A part of me still believes…that…"_

He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. _A part of me still believes that you would turn on me if you knew what I really was._

Rachel did something then that defied all his fears. Holding his inhuman hand, with fingers more like claws, she raised it up to her face and gave it the gentlest of kisses, like a feather that brushed against his flesh. And then Marik realized how deep and true her beliefs ran.

She had said that in the end, it was a person's inner beauty which mattered more than anything. She applied it to Marik and believed it fully. She had seen his arm, his hand. She had tended to it, touched it, and now kissed it.

"When you're ready to trust me…" She said hesitantly, "When you're comfortable enough to take that leap, I'll be right here, Marik." She set his hand down on the table and pulled away, picking up her supplies. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dazed, Marik stared down at his hand, turning it over, staring at it. Everything had been so clear before. It had been ordered. There was Marik, and there was Morris, and that had been it.

There had been all of Terrus, a world which would destroy him not for what he did, but simply for what he was. And as much as he had hoped that in his journey to find the life worth living, to validate his mother's sacrifice, that he would find people who would accept him…

As much as he had hoped, he had never thought it would actually _happen._

It began now with a young woman who was not even from Terrus. A woman who had come from another world entirely, crossed the mysterious rifts of the cosmos and by a stroke of fortune, had joined a crew of adventurers that Marik had joined as well. Not many things made sense anymore. But, Marik thought to himself as he stood up and picked up his ruined sleeve and broken springloaded longsword, maybe they didn't need to.

Not while she was around.

"Ness is out running around Lightfell, angry and worried sick." Rachel explained, putting her supplies away and emptying out the lid of her medical kit in the unfilled tub in the room. "If the Grey Shadow is still in this city, he and the Guardians will find him."

_"He's not here." _Marik rumbled, surprising himself as he said that.

Rachel paused as well and gave him a curious glance. "How do you know that?"

Dimly, Marik knew that the buzzing was long since gone, and that without that droning pressure on his mind, what he said was true. So Marik shrugged his shoulders, one of which was gladly healed, and turned for the door. _"I can't feel him anymore. You remember, back when we were leaving Kalen, I thought I felt somebody watching us?"_

Rachel numbly nodded.

_"I felt him." _His hood bowed a bit. _"And I can't feel him now."_

The healer closed the lid to her medical kit and bit her lip. "Marik, I…"

He turned halfway about, looking at her curiously. She mustered her courage and continued. "When you were in that alley, and he was coming for you, and Morris was unconscious…Were you afraid?"

Marik thought about it. He could lie. He could say that he was never afraid, or that in the heat of the moment, he hadn't had the time to be afraid. But really, the truth was more damaging. It was only afterwards…

Now…when he'd had the time to think about it, that it sunk in.

_"I am now." _He answered, knowing as soon as he had uttered it that it was the truth. His response chilled her, but she reasoned that it was a miracle he wasn't traumatized worse than he was. Another thought came to mind, just as Marik was beginning to walk out for his room.

"I've heard that some people have their life flash before their eyes, or think of people they care about when they know they're going to die."

Marik paused, out in the quiet hallway. He didn't turn around. _"That's a little morbid to be talking about, isn't it?"_

"I'm serious, though." Rachel insisted. "I'm not trying to be morbid, I just wanted to know. Is it true?"

Marik had only one answer to give. _"…Yes."_

"So did you have that happen to you?" She pressed.

_"I thought of someone, yes." _Marik said, wondering why he was saying this at all. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. Maybe she really had broken more of his walls than he had thought.

Rachel sat down on the edge of her bed and rested her hands in her lap. "Who? Your mother? Your father?"

_"No."_

"Who was it then?"

Marik said nothing for a moment, then shook his head. _"It was you, Rachel."_ He said, admitting the truth. Right then, he didn't really care what saying it would bring.

Taken aback, Rachel blinked. "Wh…What?"

_"The last thing that passed through my mind as I was waiting for the Grey Shadow to kill me…" _Marik said, pausing long enough to feel the weight of his sentence on his lips. _"I thought of you." _

Marik closed her door behind him, leaving Rachel to the night and to her rest. He ventured down the hall, keenly aware of his torn sleeve and exposed hand, and hoped that nobody would see him.

Nobody did, though. The inn was quiet, and when he opened his door, he found Morris curled up on his own room's table, snoring away and dead to the world.

He gave a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him and locked it. It had been a long night, and if Morris had been awake, it would have gone longer.

Grimly, as Marik removed his scroll keeper and placed it by his haversack, then pulled off cloak and robes, he pictured what his friend would have said to him.

Screamed at him, would be a more accurate term.

_Marik, have you lost your mind?! Your sleeve…it's torn off! What the Hell…No, no, Marik. Marik, please don't tell me that…You did __**not**__ let her see your arm! __**Please**__ tell me you weren't that stupid! Have you forgotten __**everything**__ your father taught us?! _

Marik closed his eyes.

He hadn't forgotten a thing Desmond Rodian had taught him. Next came his mythril chain shirt, gash and all where the Shadow's blade had sliced through. Then came the enchanted rabbit's foot from his waist, and his boots and his pants. When he was down to his undershirt and thin trousers, Marik stopped.

Almost. There was one last thing to remove before he sunk into the oblivion of sleep and did his best to forget everything that had happened on this night. His hand went underneath his shirt and pulled out the glimmering medallion his mother had left to him. For a moment, in the silence of night, he considered the gold, obsidian, and platinum object, with its ancient and indecipherable arcane markings and the shimmering emerald at its upraised center.

It had been a long time since he had bothered to take it out and look at it for more than a passing moment. He knew all too well it was magical, but nobody had ever been able to determine what it did, or what the symbols on it meant. Divinations of every sort had failed, and Headmaster Rodian had vehemently refused to reach beyond their limited, trusted, resources for a greater look.

_The life worth living. They told me you died to give that to me. _He thought briefly, letting its heavy weight rest in his palm. _So why did you give me this, too?_

His eyes caught the emerald at the medallion's center. Somehow, staring at it made him feel more fatigued than he had been when he had left Rachel's room. He was just lucky, and luck and adrenaline wore out.

That would be his explanation for everything, really. He had survived the Grey Shadow's assassination attempt, either by dumb luck, or more likely, because the Guardians had shown up in the nick of time. The Shadow had stopped midstab. He could have killed him and left, and nobody would have been the wiser.

The emerald in the medallion which caught his eye and seemed to make him sleepy, glimmered. Marik could have sworn he felt a pulse of light come from it.

The Grey Shadow's question came unbidden into his thoughts again.

**Who are you?**

Marik blinked, wondering why it had come so suddenly. He still didn't have an answer for it. The Sorceror pushed aside his thoughts of the Shadow, for those would give him nightmares. He set his mother's medallion on the table beside the softly snoring pile that was Morris, for he didn't care for questions that asked for his true essence. It was something he just wasn't sure of anymore.

He curled up on his bed and pulled the covers over him, and let his eyelids drift shut. Marik thought of Rachel instead. He had thought of her when he was about to die, after all. Maybe thinking about her as he was about to sleep would make the night's rest a peaceful one. He could always hope.

* * *

><p><em>12 Miles West of Lightfell<em>

_The Next Morning_

It had been a good plan.

Hell. It had been a great plan, as forced as it was. Hire the local thugs of Lightfell…Ambush the mage under the employ of the Cursed Blade, and catch him and his imp off guard. They would either perish at the hands of the Grey Shadow's mercenary thieves, or once they had triumphed over them and exhausted themselves, would be torn apart in a matter of moments by the Shadow. Then the Cursed Blade would be without his spellshaper, without the force that had likely gotten him through Fenderson's Pass.

That had been the plan, at least. It had rested upon two factors; that Marik was decidedly human, and that he was a wizard who would have exhausted himself studying at the Bluestaff Guild.

But Marik Observant, studied under the Shadow's watchful eyes as he and the winged devil had battled the bandits, had turned out not to be a wizard. He was something more obscure, more rare...more dangerous.

Marik Observant was a Sorceror, and after what the Shadow had seen, he was most decidedly _not _human. The Grey Shadow was a denizen of the darkness, and he knew what crawled through the night and the reaches of Terrus that the blasphemous sunlight could not burn.

**Just what was he doing? What **_**is**_** he doing? **The Shadow thought to himself, a distance away from the main road, but in sight of it. Wincing, he could feel the sunlight pouring down on his shoulders, and had it not been for his hood, faceplate, and his recovered black shroud, it would have been more than passing nuisance.

He was angry with himself, angrier still at the now known variable that was the Cursed Blade's hired mage. **Curious, that the Cursed Blade would have to hire one monster just to try and kill another. ** The thought was ironic, but he had no patience for irony, not anymore. **He is capable of so much more…He sensed me, true enough, but…He did not speak to me. **He felt a twinge of frustration at that. **Did he even know that…**

He paused and thought for a moment, replaying the final moments of their battle.

No…

Marik hadn't known. Marik didn't know about the Shadow. And even worse, what made the assassin want to laugh, he had no idea about himself.

**Heh heh…But I know you, Mr. Observant.**

The sun came up a little higher, and with a hiss, the Shadow lifted his hand up to cover his face. He would have to find shelter for the day; a place to rest and refocus. Tomorrow night, he would have to feed. But that he could accomplish on the way to Istus. Up ahead, he could make out a large rock cresting over the edge of a hill. The ground beneath it had been eroded away by the elements, creating a small crevasse which blocked out the sun.

It wasn't much, but it would do for the moment. The Shadow only needed a place beyond the sun's reach, after all. Comfort was secondary. He crawled underneath the rock, feeling the familiar comfort of the darkness envelop him. He needed time and rest. It would be a run towards Istus now. The Grey Shadow had been running ever since he had finished his assignment in Sorvindal. He had set up an ambush for the Cursed Blade in Crannogh Heights. The ingrate had lived. The Shadow had led the swordsman and his friends through Fenderson's Pass. They had survived it. And now, even a direct attack against the Cursed Blade's mage had failed.

So he kept running. But once he hit Istus, and vanished into the barren hills and the caverns beneath them…

He would be done running. The Grey Shadow was tired of running. Ness Benson and his team would come after him. They knew he had fled west; the Sunrise Guardians of Lightfell had caught sight of him escaping out the western gate.

West led to Istus, towards the country where everybody was free and you could make a life for yourself, as long as you didn't ask too many questions and watched your back. The Shadow had made a home for himself there, beyond the fringe of the free cities and towns, out where the truly lawless lived among the monsters and beasts that had slowly been exterminated and pushed out of 'civilized Ashra'.

**Let them come.** The Grey Shadow mused as he closed his eyes. **Let them all come and perish in MY domain.**

Once he had returned home, all the luck in the world couldn't help the Cursed Blade and his allies. Not even that troublesome Marik Observant could stop him.

**I'll mount his head on my wall along with Ness Benson's…And I'll send that imp of his back to the Depths.**

Idly, he recalled that there was a young girl in Ness' party as well. He thought of killing her as well, severing her head so that that look of surprise would last for an eternity…But, he reminded himself, it had been a while since he had last tamed a free-spirited girl for his own…amusement.

He went into restful meditation, his own kind of sleep, with thoughts of that brown-haired, blue eyed girl enslaved in his stronghold, her mind and will broken, utterly under his control. It was a good thought to sleep on.

After all, the Grey Shadow mused, thinking that not all was lost and that he knew more of his foes than he had before…He could always hope.

* * *

><p><em>Lightfell, Samael's Lands<em>

He had managed a few hours of sleep after he determined, moving in search parties with the Guardians, that the Grey Shadow had long since left Lightfell. Unfortunately for him, Rachel had other ideas besides sleeping in.

_"After what happened last night, I'm going to need some supplies to make my next run of potions. I ran out of mint, but I'm going to need something a little stronger, anyhow. You're the only person who can get what I need."_

The swordsman wrinkled his nose as he walked back from the eastern bazaar. He had visited the southern, central, and western markets before coming upon the particular kind of dried plant matter Rachel had needed.

He only hoped that it would be as effective in a potion as she had promised him. It smelled terrible; He carried a full pound and a half of dried mint leaves, which was something she had asked for, but wasn't the basis of what she was already beginning to prepare back at the inn.

No, that came from the blend of dried blueberries and some kind of pungent spice that had nearly turned his stomach on end. He couldn't even remember the name of it, as she had written it down when he couldn't get the pronunciation right, and the apocethary had taken it with a smiling shake of her wizened head before mixing the two components.

Even though the druggist had sealed it in a leather sack, the first whiff of that unknown gray spice still clung to him. "This had better be worth it." He murmured, slinging the sack of blended potion components over his shoulder and finally, three hours after he set out, entering the _Frozen Tabard_ once more.

Rachel was sitting in the main parlor, reading a book on Lightfell's history which the innkeeper's wife had found somewhere in the back room. A table had been set up with all her various beakers, vials, and burners. She glanced up at Ness and blinked. "I was wondering when you'd get back."

"Finding the materials you needed wasn't the easiest thing in the world, Miss Ashbury." The swordsman grumbled, handing the sacks to her. "There you are. Mint and…well, whatever that other stuff is." He grew a little pale. "It smells terrible, by the way."

"Oh, it will." She commented. "But when it's done brewing, and it's been infused with the right magics, it will be odorless."

"What will it taste like?"

"If I do this right, it will resemble a licorice." She remarked, giving him a wink.

Ness visibly winced as he went to sit down in one of the lounge chairs. "I hate licorice."

"I think when you're out bleeding to death and I'm not around, you'll get over the taste." Came her irritated reply. "I was hoping you would get back sooner. I had to refill the main beaker twice; the water kept evaporating on me."

"Good things are worth waiting for." The swordsman yawned, relaxing. "So. When do you think we'll be able to set out?"

"We're not going anywhere until I've had a chance to finish all these potions." The healer said firmly. "Not after what happened last night."

Ness couldn't argue with the wisdom there. "I can't believe he was here the entire time, and then he got away from us!"

"But we know where he's going." Rachel Ashbury reminded him, checking the water temperature in the main beaker once more before emptying a third of the mixed components bag into it. The blueberries and spice were absorbed into the water, and the dye of the berries slowly began to turn the water blue. "He won't get far."

"I suppose." Ness grumbled. "Istus. It had to be Istus."

"Have you ever been there?" Rachel asked, stirring the foul-smelling concoction and wrinkling her nose against the smell.

"No. I try to avoid the seedier parts of Ashra." The swordsman said with a feigned shrug of his shoulders. "There's no getting around it this time, apparently," He shook his head and changed the subject. "So how is Marik doing, anyhow?"

"He's fine." Rachel assured him, nodding once as the powder disappeared completely, and the boiling water took on a deep blue sheen. "I tended to his wounds, and my spells did the rest. He's busy as well; he said he had to repair that device he uses to wield his longsword."

"Aah, yes." Ness said, oblivious to the hidden meanings in her sentence. "A handy little thing, that. I'd never seen anything like it. I imagine it's mechanically complex. Still, if anyone can fix it, it's him and Morris." The swordsman clucked his tongue and sighed. "Funny, I'd never heard him talk until last night. It's no wonder that he has Morris do all the talking for him. That accident he was in must have really been terrible, to leave his voice so scarred."

Rachel paused for a moment, for she knew the truth. Marik had told her it had been no accident. That he looked and sounded as he always had, because he was born the way he was. She didn't tell Ness, though. A part of her wanted to leave that a secret that only she and Marik knew…something that formed a bond between them nobody else could see. Not even Ness Benson, the man she was beginning to fall in love with.

"It must have." She agreed.

"So how does that…that brew of yours become those handy potions?" Ness asked, motioning to the rows of vials Rachel had prepared.

Rachel clasped her hands together and focused over the bubbling blue water, letting her magic resonate and come forth. The suffusing blue glow of her powerful healing magic enveloped her body, and Ness took a respectful step away from her, watching in wonder. She opened her eyes, and they glowed green. _"With Calyssa's help." _She answered, in a voice not entirely her own. Ness blinked, but said nothing.

Rachel lowered her hands down over the waters and willed her powerful magics outwards. The glow infused with the blue waters, making it shine bright for the span of ten seconds before falling dim. Rachel turned off the flame underneath her brew and took a step back, nodding. "It's starting to thicken up." She commented, a little exhausted from the effort she had just undergone. "Now all we have to do…is wait for it to cool and…" She lost her balance on the next step back, stumbling and beginning to fall backwards. Ness dashed over and caught her in his strong arms, a worried look on his face.

"Rachel, you…Are you all right?" He asked, suddenly self-conscious as he realized that in catching her, he had pressed one hand into the small of her back and the other against her midriff. And even wearing her usual long skirt and short-sleeved shirt, he found that it did little to sway him from becoming tongue-tied around the beautiful woman in his arms.

Rachel brushed some of her hair out of her eyes and offered him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Ness. I just…tend to overdo it sometimes."

"Well, try and be more careful." Ness said quietly, unconsciously tracing his thumb back and forth across her stomach.

The gentle caress brought Rachel the rest of the way out of her stupor, and she gave him a coy little smile. "Ness, what are you doing?"

Ness frowned, then stopped his thumb. "I don't really know." He admitted, helping her back up to her feet. "I apologize."

A little dizzy still, Rachel still smiled at Ness as she pulled her blue shawl around her shoulders a little tighter. "I didn't say I didn't like it, did I?"

The comeback caught Ness Benson off of his guard, and he blinked at her in surprise. "You did?"

Rachel giggled, one of her innocent little gestures he found far too appealing. "I'm surprised you haven't tried that sooner." She teased him.

Slowly beginning to smile himself, Ness Benson leaned in closer. "And if I tried doing that again?"

Rachel bowed her head a little, blushing. "I'm not always going to fall into your arms, Ness."

His strong hands fell behind her shoulders and pulled her against him. Their blue eyes met, and underneath his stubble, the curly-haired swordsman smiled a little bit in triumph. "That's a shame." He murmured, lowering his head down and kissing her hungrily.

Rachel's arms went under his and pressed against his back, pulling him in farther.

_There is much about this world Calyssa would love._

* * *

><p>Up a floor above them, Marik was busy at work still repairing his longsword's mechanical launcher, and Morris was making a general nuisance of himself.<p>

"Aaw, boss, can't we take a break?" The imp whined petulantly, hovering about Marik's head.

A little aggravated, the Sorceror sent his friend a thought.

_**If you're so hungry, go ahead and go downstairs. **_

"Come on, we gotta get you out of this room for a while." Morris argued.

_"I'm not going anywhere until I've finished making the repairs to this." _Marik grumbled.

He had made his springloaded sectional longsword to be durable, to withstand the rigors of the road. It seemed he should have invested in some scrolls to enchant it with added hardness as well, after last night.

That nagging voice of doubt in the back of his mind told him there was little that magic could have done to help him against the Grey Shadow, anyhow. His longsword had at least seemed to scratch him. Of course, the fact that their duel had gone downhill from there and he had nearly lost his arm weighed heavily on the mages' mind as well.

_**The next time, I might not be so lucky.**_ He thought, a little louder than he had intended. Morris was able to pick up on it, and sighed.

"The next time, you won't face him alone. You'll have me there."

_"Unless you get knocked into another wall." _Marik retorted. Last night hadn't been the first time Morris had found himself smashed like a gnat, though it certainly was the most troubling. Morris winced at the reference and rubbed self-consciously at the back of his head.

"Well…you'll have Ness and Rachel, too."

His hands, industrious as ever as he continued to try and get the tension on the strings of his mechanism just so, betrayed the Sorceror's flashing piece of memory from the night before. So did his dark black eyes.

_**Do you trust them, Morris?**_

"What do you mean by that?" Came the imp's suddenly suspicious reply. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Marik fell silent for a moment, looking over the rail that the three pieces of his longsword rested in and glided out of with an appreciative nod. Enough uses of his repairing cantrip had set most of it to rights, save for the delicate gears and pulleys. That had taken most of the work; not the body of the device, but its wires.

Only when he had finished his last series of gauges did the Sorceror send reply.

_**How much do you trust them?**_

"I trust 'em enough to stick with 'em and finish this damn mission." The imp retorted sharply. "The Grey Shadow made a mistake when he messed with us, and he's going to pay for it, yes sir!"

_**Do you trust them with your life?**_

"I kind of have to." Morris grumbled. "Rachel's pulled me back from a quick trip back to Hell at least once by now, and Ness…Well, I like Ness. He's an all right fella. So yes, I trust them with my life."

_**And would you trust them…with…**_

To this, the imp's eyes went darker than usual. "I don't think I trust anyone that much." He leveled a finger at Marik. "Your identity is your greatest secret and your greatest threat. Don't forget that." He fluttered over and sat on Marik's bed, unable to ignore the nagging feeling in his head. "Crackers. Marik, did you do something stupid?"

The Sorceror shook his head, strapping the fixed mechanism back on to his arm. When the padded wood base and metal guide rail passed over the thin white scar where his arm had been gashed by the Shadow, he shuddered a little bit, but Rachel had been right. It was fully healed, just weak.

_**I trusted Rachel enough to save my life. And she did.**_

He tightened the straps, and the little imp glowered at him. "But your injuries were…Her spells could fix that without seeing it?"

To this, Marik finally froze. Morris jumped on his opportunity. "I _knew it!_" The imp hissed. "Marik, you clod! You actually let her…You're crazy! I should have never left you alone! Now you've endangered everything that…"

_"I've endangered __**nothing**__."_ Marik snapped, resetting the wired rings back over the fingers of his right hand. _"She saw my arm, Morris. My hand. And she wasn't afraid. She didn't scream or shun me."_

"And if she saw your face?" The imp pressed, seething as his tail lashed about the bed. "What would she do then?"

_"I don't know." _Marik admitted quietly. _"But I want to believe…I want to believe that it wouldn't matter to her. She's always talking about how a person's spirit is more important than how they look."_

"It doesn't matter which way we cut it, Marik." The imp reminded him, sad as well. "No matter what happens, we'll always be monsters."

_"But in her eyes?" _Marik asked. _"Would we be monsters in her eyes?"_

Morris gave his friend a knowing look. "For the longest time when I was growing up in the Depths, I told myself I couldn't let the others know that I was different. That I wasn't evil, and that I wasn't interested in intrigue, or power. But I finally gave in one day; I told one of the impettes I worked with what I was really like." The little devil shook his head. "I can still feel the aches some days, from where they flayed me. But I lived, because devils are sadistic freaks and have always loved to lord it over everybody else." The imp closed his eyes for a moment before he spoke again. "I don't know, Marik. I don't know what she would do if she knew, or what Ness would do. All I know is it's better to _not_ cross that bridge. Because up here, on Terrus, it's different. I showed who I really was, and was beaten and torn half to death for it. Here they might kill you. And that's something I could never forgive myself for."

_"In other words…if she knew, if I told her, I could lose everything."_ The Sorceror concluded with a sad sigh.

Morris nodded. "You could."

_"Or I could gain the world."_

The imp snorted. "Awfully hopeful, aren't you?"

_"She makes me want to hope." _Marik said wistfully. He squeezed his right hand into a fist and twisted his wrist just so, waiting for the device to fail. It didn't. The wires triggered the right assembly of gears, and the springloaded blade snapped forth along its guiding rail, the three sections going into alignment. The silvered longsword stretched out beyond his wrist and above his knuckles, then locked into place.

Marik smiled and twisted his wrist in the opposite direction, and it snapped back home. His sword pulled back along the guiding rail and rested in its three pieces, no longer needed.

"Well, at least you got that thing to work again." Morris grumbled

_"We'll need it." _Marik rumbled. _"He can resist my magic. I don't know how, but…" _He shook his head. _"He's dangerous."_

"If he wasn't, there wouldn't be a huge bounty on his head." Morris chuffed, flying over and landing on Marik's left shoulder, careful to avoid the one the Shadow had stabbed through with vicious force. "All I'm saying, Marik…You have to be careful."

Morris didn't mean the Grey Shadow, Marik knew. He meant Rachel and Ness.

Marik absentmindedly stroked a hand across the front of his gray shirt, feeling the cold weight of his mother's medallion pressing against his skin underneath.

_"I don't think that a life worth living can be lived in the darkness." _He said, a little saddened by the prospect.

"You have to live long enough to find that life first." Came Morris, ever the voice of reason in his chaotic life. Smiling to himself, and finding his eyes burning for no particular reason, Marik reached up and scratched at Morris' floppy ears with his left hand.

_"Why am I feeling like this, Morris?"_

"I'm your friend, not your soulmate." The imp snorted, growling softly as Marik found just the right spot between his ear and his head. "Most days, I don't know what you're feeling, much less why. At least since we set out on this journey with Ness and Rachel."

Marik closed his eyes. _**Just remember, you're the one who asked me to spend time with her, back in Sanderson's Falls. **_

"Yeah." Morris sighed, stretching his wings out with a yawn. "I hope you don't do anything to make me regret that."

Marik's eyes still burned as the first tear rolled down his cheek. Maybe he was more afraid of the Shadow than he thought. Or maybe he was afraid of what Rachel was finding in him. The emotions that she was dredging up from his buried, hidden side threatened to overwhelm him.

He found himself wondering…hoping…If that wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.


	10. Nine: Detour of The Heart

**Nine: Detour of the Heart**

_Western Samael's Lands_

For the most part, the first leg of their trek through western Samael's Lands was uneventful. The main highways were well kept and guarded, so they met little trouble as they rode along on their rented horses.

"Of course, it won't be like this forever." Ness Benson reminded them, who had grown more and more somber the closer they came to Istus. "Once we reach the city of Denvale, we'll have to dismount and walk from there. The relay station will need our mounts back."

Marik, who towered over his companions normally, utterly dwarfed them sitting upon a horse. Morris flew in lazy circles around them all, watchful for danger but not all that concerned.

After all, Marik hadn't been feeling any headaches lately, which meant the Shadow was nowhere nearby. Ness had found the mages' ability to detect their assassin by "feel" curious, but welcome.

Rachel glanced about them, holding one hand against the saddle and her other clasped about the reins. Even now, she smiled and watched the world around them unfold in its beauty. The breeze played with her hair, and she shook her head to get it out of her eyes. "I think I've gotten used to walking, Ness. Do you think we'll meet any danger before we reach the borders of Istus?"

"I doubt it." Came the swordsman's stoic reply. His green cloak hung about his shoulders and draped over his back. It covered all of him but the hilt of his new sword, a masterpiece of craftsmanship called Brightflame. It had been a gift to him from Baron Denwyr Lastagorn in Lightfell, a gift whose only catch had been that Ness would use it to end the Grey Shadow's life. "Samael's Lands is generally peaceful. There will occasionally be an uprising of highway bandits, but those are dealt with quickly." He threw a glance back to Marik and smiled. "Given our prior experience, I'm not too worried about highway robbers anyhow."

Marik, who rode with his arms folded in his sleeves and his Sorceror's hand guiding the reins, gave so slight of a nod that it could almost be mistaken for just a vibration of the road.

Rachel patted the satchel that hung at her side. "If we do get into trouble, we'll be ready for it. I picked up a few more pouches of silver dust before we left Lightfell. I was also able to prepare ten vials of my blue healing potions, and another twelve of the greens."

"And the stronger batch is the blue stuff, right?" Morris queried, wanting to make sure he understood it. Rachel gave the imp a nod.

"The blue ones are stronger, yes. We won't be caught unprepared again."

"Twenty-two vials of healing elixir and a new magical sword?" Ness mused, rubbing at his chin. "I'd hope not. It's better odds going against the Grey Shadow than I've had in a long time."

"What is it now, eight years you've been chasing him?" Morris called out, flying beside his head as he darted on ahead of them and swept up into the air at the last moment.

Ness didn't reply right away, though. Whatever mirth he had seemed to fade, and he seemed to age in seconds. It was a startling picture for Rachel and Marik to see.

"Ness?" Rachel asked. "Are you all right?"

"Eight." Ness murmured, and shook his head. "Yes, it's been eight years."

Morris swung back and landed on his shoulder, giving Ness a wiggle of his ears. "It sounds like there's a story to this."

Ness gave Morris a cold stare. "Another time." He said firmly. The swordsman cleared his throat and motioned ahead of them. "We should increase our pace. Every moment we dawdle is another one that the Shadow gets closer and closer to Istus."

Not giving his comrades a chance to say anything in rebuttal, Ness Benson dug his heels into the sides of his steed and charged on ahead in an easy gallop.

Marik pulled alongside Rachel as Morris landed on the Sorceror's shoulder. A little miffed, Morris sniffed his nose and crossed his arms. "I wonder what _that_ was all about." He muttered dejectedly.

Rachel, who knew that it was Morris who had said that, and not Morris passing along Marik's words, gave a soft shrug of her shoulders and pulled her red scarf tighter around her neck. "Something painful." She replied. "He wasn't like this when we first got to Lightfell, but ever since then, I've seen him getting more and more distant again."

_"Curious." _Marik rumbled, no longer feeling the need to use Morris to translate for him around her. _"When did he begin to become so dismal?"_

The young woman thought for a moment. The last few days had really been a blur to her. The answer was somewhere near, but out of reach, at that moment in time.

"When I remember, I'll let you know." She said with a shrug.

* * *

><p><em>The Border City of Baraden<em>

_Istus, Continent of Ashra_

Baraden didn't exist on the maps of Ashra. It was a township held only in rumor and preserved in secrecy. Of course, that had everything to do with the sort of business that was conducted there.

Hidden from the skies by a large overhanging ridge of land, its foundations laid in a cavern that time and the elements had carved over thousands of years, Baraden was a marvel of engineering and ingenuity. With glowflies acting as the city's lighting, swirling about in their hives on the ceiling, it was passably lit. A complex set of dams and culverts diverted the water from the seasonal rains into deep reservoirs that its inhabitants used to live off of, and further plumbing took the city's waste out through underground tunnels to the Ocean of Idane to the south. Other tunnels led to the caverns beneath Ashra; the places where men feared to go, but others trod regularly. The Banished, monsters almost indescribable, and countless others would occasionally pass through Baraden. Provided they did not seek to threaten it, they were allowed to come and go as they pleased, for a small fee.

That was where Baraden's business came into play. The city, a marvel of its time, was home, hospice, and den to some of the worst brigands and cutthroats to ever betray the night's tranquility. Partially in Samael's Lands and partially in Istus, it held allegiance to neither, but Istus certainly was more in line with the business interests of Baraden. It was home to the Mist Riders, a fabled group of assassins whose name sent dread into the hearts of goodhearted men and women.

That fact didn't escape the Grey Shadow's thoughts as he maneuvered through the damp, musty streets of Baraden. It had been approximately two months since he had last been here, and he had only stayed an afternoon before he grew tired and left.

Well, that and the fact that he had killed one of the Mist Rider's apprentices. It had been the stupid boy's fault, anyway; Taking on the assignment of trailing after him, in hopes of seeing what lay underneath the cold, gray iron faceplate. Out of amusement, the Shadow had let him think he was undetected; he killed him only after letting the boy see what he had been hired to see.

He still couldn't decide what had been more delicious; The look of utter surprise when the youth realized the Shadow had known all along, or the noiseless, openmouthed scream when the Shadow had taken off his faceplate and let him see the true monster underneath.

Naturally, the fool's death had won him the Mist Rider's open hostility. Still, they were nobody's fool; the Grey Shadow had made and kept a reputation as being one of the best in his line of work. While they let him know that he wasn't welcomed in Baraden, they didn't attack him openly. It just wasn't done.

Convenience and necessity had brought him back; Convenience, for entering into Istus through Baraden was a safer option than through the highways, and necessity, for his latest contracted employer had arranged to meet him here for the payment of that job of his in Sorvindal.

His latest job had been particularly harrowing on him. Had he known that the Cursed Blade would have caused him so much trouble by getting new, and _capable_ companions, he would have stayed around with the orcs and killed Ness himself.

Hindsight, as they said…

Even in the relative darkness, the Shadow kept his tattered black shroud around him, hiding every part of his armored body except for the skeletal faceplate he wore, and his curiously sized boots. If he were to walk in at his full glory, shortswords clasped at his sides, he would have attracted far too much attention for his liking. At least this way, there was some element of obscurity to it. He wasn't the only sort of fellow who hid away in shrouds and cloaks, after all.

**Although I've never seen anyone as cunning at hiding himself than that blasted Sorceror…**

He frowned and let the thought pass, pushing into a well-lit alley. Ten feet in, there was a raised doorstop and a bolted entrance. He went up to it and lifted a gloved hand out of his shroud, knocking on the door with deliberately slow force.

A slot in the door, positioned for a pair of eyes, slid open to a gruff-looking set.

"Whaddya want?" Came the snarl.

The Shadow pulled the edge of his shroud back, revealing his masked face more clearly. The eyes did nothing, and the voice kept its edge. "He's expecting you." The slot slammed shut, and the door swung open. The Shadow calmly entered inside the tavern through the back entrance. The only people who used the front were fools who didn't mind being seen.

His contact was sitting up in the balcony of the dank, odorous tavern, swirling his finger through a half-empty snifter of brandy with utter disregard for the impropriety of the motion. His studded velvet robes, even covered by the thick and rough material of his cloak, gave him away. The ruby red ring that sat on his finger was an even more audacious means of identification, for rings of fireblasting were rare.

The Shadow casually took the seat opposite of him, waiting for his employer to begin the conversation. It took a few moments for the wiry middle-aged spellcaster to conclude his bizarre ritual before he finally looked up at the Shadow with an unsurprised look.

"You took the back entrance. I almost thought you might brave the front this time." He said.

_"Save your Scrying for someone who cares, Arlemyst." _The Shadow rasped back. _"I'm here for my money."_

Almost in disappointment, the wizard sighed and motioned to a brass lid sitting on the table. It was the kind used to cover dishes while they were being delivered to a dinner table. "Always so professional, Shadow? I thought we might stay and talk for a while." He said hopefully.

The Grey Shadow lifted the lid up and found a thick moneypurse underneath, filled with finger-sized gold ingots. Nodding appreciatively, he tucked his service fee away. He couldn't help but try and calculate how much he had spent just to get here, and how much he had thrown at all those useless buffoons and beasts he had paid to get in the way of his pursuers. Even with those expenses, he had earned himself a tidy sum. _"Sorry, but unless you've got another job to discuss, our business is concluded." _He summarized solemnly.

The wizard smiled, touching his fingertips together as he leaned on the table. "And if I did? Arlemyst Destane has many enemies, you know." That curious habit the mage had of referring to himself in the third person was something that had grated on the assassin's nerves from the moment they had met. If anyone had reason to speak in such a fashion, it wasn't this aging arcanist, that was for certain.

_"Perhaps another time." _The Shadow rumbled. _"For the moment, I have other business to attend to."_

"You've been chased out all this way?" Arlemyst mused, stroking at his chin. "Curious. I thought you were better than that."

The Grey Shadow narrowed his eyes into slits at that, but said nothing.

"Well, as long as you're here, could I offer you a drink for your troubles?" Arlemyst asked. "Something for the road ahead of you?"

_"I don't think that this place carries…my brand."_ The Shadow said, growing tired of the conversation. Like all conversations with Arlemyst's kind, they were pointless, layered in fickle intrigue, and rooted in a sense of superiority that the Shadow found sickening and completely laughable.

"Too bad, too bad." Arlemyst said waving his hand about and humming briefly to himself. The motion seemed less than coincidental to the Shadow, and he found himself wondering if the man didn't have some hidden plot at work. It certainly seemed like he had cast a spell, but there was no immediate sign that he had.

The Grey Shadow stood up, tired of the brief meeting. _"I believe our business here is ended."_ He rumbled, reaching out with his finely tuned senses about the tavern. No, he should have anticipated the possibility of danger, because whether he wanted it or not, there was clearly danger present.

Arlemyst gave him one of his insightful grins, as if some master plan was unfolding. It was a trap, the Shadow realized with calm realization. "I believe you're correct. You should think of a way to spend that money while you still can."

On the main floor below, and in the balcony, several of the tavern's patrons stood up, glancing towards the Shadow and the curious wizard.

The Shadow recognized them the moment that the closest knave, only six feet away, drew out an ornate dagger with a white stallion's head rising out of a cloud of mist engraved on the pommel. **The Mist Riders. It figures.**

He hadn't turned his head to see the danger, but he knew it was there anyway. Arlemyst had an odd smile on his face as he looked up to the standing assassin. "Is something the matter, friend?"

_"Tell me something." _The Shadow rasped, keeping his voice calm while he lowered one hand down to the hilt of his first shortsword. _"Did you hire the Mist Riders…or did they buy you?"_

"A little of both, actually." The wizard replied smugly. "See, I just didn't feel like parting with that much money, and they had an old score to settle with you, apparently. So, in turn for bringing you here and helping in your eradication, they waived their fee, and I have an entire guild of cutthroats to use for eliminating my enemies."

The Shadow laughed a little bit at that; a low, watery laugh that seemed more of a wheeze. It set the odd mage off his balance, and that was his intention. _"Of course, there's one flaw in your plan to not pay me." _The Grey Shadow announced coldly. _"You're assuming that you'll be able to pry back your money from my cold, dead hands."_

His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his shortsword. Hissing in triumph, the Shadow threw off his shroud. It struck the face of his nearest aggressor, blinding him and stopping the first attack.

There was the barest moment of surprise on the wizard Arlemyst Destane's face before the Grey Shadow's shortsword was out and flashing through the air, slicing through his frail body in a clean slice.

Too clean. There was no resistance, no form to him at all. The illusion of Arlemyst sitting at the table vanished into wisps of vapor, and the Shadow whirled about and drew his other shortsword.

**So, misleading me all this time, were you?** He could make out at least six other assassins from the Mist Riders now running towards him, and the rest of the tavern was clearing out with the fight now in full swing. The presence of an armored, dextrous combatant with two sawtoothed shortswords was something that nobody wished to be in proximity of.

Under more ideal circumstances, the Grey Shadow would concentrate with his finely tuned senses to locate the invisible mage before he could escape. However, he had a feeling that the self-proclaimed Arlemyst didn't have flight on his mind, not while he could watch the Shadow be overwhelmed and enjoy his chicanery. The other thing that kept him worrying less about where Arlemyst had gone, for the moment at least, was that there were seven members of the Mist Riders guild spoiling to chop _his _head off.

The one closest to him threw the Shadow's shroud aside angrily and reached at his side. Curiously, as the Shadow turned in towards him with his wicked blades, the man did not flee or feint, but held onto a pouch as he jerked a skinny arm towards the Shadow's face.

The Grey Shadow closed his eyes too late to completely block the spray of sand. He could feel his eyes burning and stinging. The sensation was displeasing.

To most warriors, the loss of vision would have meant a very feeble and pointless resistance. But underneath his staring faceplate, the Shadow offered a dark and malevolent grin, stumbling back in a feigned gesture of surprise and weakness.

As he had predicted, the first of the Mist Riders came in, hoping to score that needed critical stab. Just as he had practiced so many times, the Shadow knocked aside the small dagger with one lazy swing of his left shortsword, and then severed the man's arm clean off with his right. There was the briefest moment of shock on the poor man's face before the Shadow jammed one blade through the man's chest. The Shadow pulled his sword back as the dead Rider fell, finding the entire affair displeasing. Open conflict wasn't his preferred method of killing.

There was just…no _style_ to it, really. There was fighting, but an assassin did not live for combat. All the same, they stood in his way, and they had made their first mistake. They had thought the Grey Shadow needed to see them to fight. He didn't, of course. Smugly, he chuckled as his perception reached out and felt every one of them in the room. Turning to one of his favorite abilities once more, he began to hear the surprise and fear that echoed in their thoughts.

**Heh heh…I can see you. **He paused for a moment as the second and third Riders, carrying shortswords themselves, charged in towards him. The wizard Arlemyst had moved downstairs, and from his thoughts was preparing to fire a lightning bolt at him before his invisibility wore off. **And I can see you, too.**

The next two Riders came in towards him, ready to end his life. There was a magic blast being aimed at him from behind. The Shadow could have cared less. He simply lowered himself into a crouch and grinned.

This was going to be _fun._

They came together as a single team, working their shortswords in tandem in a pattern of flash and weave. It gave them an edge in the direct conflict, and any attempt to dodge to the side or jump over them would have certainly met with failure.

The Shadow came at them, enjoying a brief clash of swords before he seemed to lose his footing and slip down. Taking the advantage, the two assassins swung their blades down, ready to lop off his head. They struck the wooden floor instead.

They were dumbstruck just long enough for the Grey Shadow to pull himself up to his feet behind them and kill them with two clean backhanded stabs. There was a brief pair of shuddering cries, and then they slumped silent and dead.

**A shame. Did they have horror or surprise on their faces?** He wondered briefly, sensing the third Mist Rider barreling towards him. Taking a chance, he opened his eyes against the burning sand, and got a somewhat blurry image. His new attacker carried a pair of daggers, but there was an aura to the weapons. The black hazy glow about them made the Shadow frown for a moment; they were magically enchanted to suck the life out of the poor souls they were used against.

A pinprick in the back of his mind reminded him of Arlemyst, finishing the last motions to unleash that lightning bolt of his. Idly, he wondered if he should just take it, for while it would hit, his natural resistances would stop it cold. Then he recalled, with the sort of lazy memory one possessed of utter calm had, that there was still the fourth Mist Rider coming at him with those troublesome daggers.

If there was a graceful or particularly stylistic way to kill somebody, the Shadow knew how. He knew how to make it count this time as well. Casually, he turned the handle of his shortsword about in his hand, letting the fourth assassin come at him.

Only when he could nearly feel the electricity of Arlemyst's lightning bolt singe at his neck did he dart to the side. It missed him completely and soared on, moving in an unerring line.

With some amount of satisfaction, and still half-blind, the Shadow heard the crackling force strike at a target it was not meant to hit. He heard Arlemyst's horrified curse as well, and that made him smile all the more in tandem with the sound of the fourth Mist Rider collapsing to the floor, charred and dead.

**I suppose I could spare a moment,** he thought to himself. Slipping his shortswords back into their scabbards, he fumbled around through his blurry eyes across a nearby table, grasping about a tankard. He splashed it onto his faceplate, and exhaled a bit in relief when it dripped down to his mouth and he could taste it. **Aah, small miracles. Somebody was drinking small beer.** The burning sensation faded from his eyes as it washed away the sand. The Shadow looked about the tavern again, seeing the last three of the Mist Riders charging up towards him. Arlemyst was busy ruffling about in his components pouch for something to fire another spell.

Casually, the Shadow looked to the three assassins, and then gave a hard, piercing look to the spellcaster. While he certainly wasn't afraid of most magics, Arlemyst could prove to be a distraction in the wrong moment.

He reached down to the dead and thunderblasted Rider he had allowed Arlemyst to kill with his misplaced shot, then quickly scooped up the two enchanted daggers the assassin had been fixing to use on him.

**Relax, friends.** The Shadow mused, ignoring the three remaining Mist Riders as he jumped over the railing of the balcony. It was a solid ten foot drop, but he had barely touched the ground before he came charging at Arlemyst. The wizard's face, so smug and superior for the longest time filled with dread. **I'll deal with you all in a moment.**

Arlemyst reached for the one spell that he, like nearly every other arcane spellcaster, could pull off without fail. Wiggling his fingers at the charging assassin, he launched off a volley of magical bolts. They all swung in on target, and there was a glimmer of hope in the mage's eyes.

Every shot disappeared and fizzled just before impact, just as Marik's had. The similarity wasn't lost on the Shadow, gripping the borrowed life-stealing daggers in his hands.

If he could replay that fateful night's duel…

One dagger was jammed through Arlemyst's shoulder, and the other the Shadow sent through his hand, pushing him back against the wall and pinning him there. The wizard screamed and began to whimper, and for a moment, the Shadow thought of killing him on the spot. He changed his mind quickly. With one of Arlemyst's arms paralyzed by that critical shoulder wound and the other hand pinned to the wall, he could afford to wait.

_"I'll be back for you." _The Grey Shadow hissed, leaning in his cold metal faceplate close to Arlemyst. The wizard moaned and shut his eyes, begging for death to take him quickly.

Satisfied, the Shadow stood up and turned about, drawing his serrated shortswords once more. Two of the three Mist Riders had reversed course and were charging down the steps. The last one had decided to leap off the balcony like he had earlier. The Shadow rolled his eyes. At least he had made the jump with style. The other man would be lucky if he didn't sprain an ankle in the fall. He spun his shortswords in his hands again and narrowed his perfect eyes.

**Now we shall see how the Mist Riders can fight against their better.**

It was really no contest at all, not when he was so focused that he could almost predict their moves before they made them. The Mist Rider who had thrown himself off of the balcony stumbled. The Shadow came towards him at a leisurely pace, ignoring the quick kill for something better.

Gritting his teeth, the Mist Rider leapt away from the Shadow. He was biding his time, the Grey Shadow realized, waiting for his two friends to come in. It was a pincer maneuver, meant to trap him between three warriors. Smiling to himself, the Grey Shadow kept walking towards the lone bandit, all too aware of the foes charging behind him.

**If you're going to kill, then kill smoothly and without warning. And always remember…Do it with **_**style.**_

Idly, the Shadow tried to remember who had said that to him. Had he come up with that on his own, or was that phrase an alteration to some sage piece of advice he had heard in the past, and lost in his long years of being a feared killer?

It mattered little, and he could think on it later, when things of little matter could gain importance. For the moment, he reminded himself, he had other issues.

He could cast a spell of invisibility on himself; that momentary edge would give him the time to strike once, perhaps twice at them without immediate fear or danger.

It would be clean, true. It just would have no style. And that was unacceptable.

So he let them come, and as he dueled against the first with one blade, he turned his body sideways and met the charge of the other two with his second. Steel met steel, crashing with angry gnawing sounds, and the teeth of the Shadow's shortswords scraped viciously against the weaker, mundane metal of the Mist Rider's blades. In time, the Shadow knew, even his impressive body would be hard-pressed to maintain the physical output that taxed his seemingly endless stamina. A move would have to be made soon, and still holding all three at bay with his artful weaves, his elegant sword strokes, and that eternal dance on the razor's edge between life and death, he ran over the options in his mind.

He could pull down in himself and exert the full force of his untapped fury, but that would raise too many questions, and for all he knew, there were still others of the Mist Riders, hidden eyes watching the duel unfold for later reference. No, he could not expose that. Any strategist would argue to always hold one's true potential out of view.

Another option was to use his incredible dexterity to leap out of the conflagration and approach the fight from a different, more secure angle. His rational side favored this one.

The last option was to give in entirely to the hypnotic dance of his blades, of his arms, of his legs and torso, and become the sadistic dealer of death he relished in as a self-granted privilege. It would be risky, for he would shut off most of his rationality to let himself go…But it was preferred by his impulsive side. After all, he reminded himself as he grinned behind his cold gray metal faceplate, the third option carried the most style. And he could use the practice in the sort of close combat he so rarely got to get into.

He whirled about to face the paired Mist Riders, working his blades in a feverish pattern that matched their own and slowly began to turn it back. They had built their determined cooperative bladework over years. The Shadow had had decades to perfect his art. The Shadow contorted his body into one arch after another, pleased that not a single blow landed. The single troublesome Rider behind him came in too close for comfort, and the Shadow could feel the point of his shortsword tickle across the armored mesh covering his torso.

He ignored it for about a quarter second more, just long enough to gain the advantage against the two. He disarmed one with a quick double swipe of his blades, but did not throw the shortsword aside. Juggling it between his own swords for a moment, he hefted it into the air and delivered a blow with the flat side of one of his weapons to the blade's hilt, shooting it through the air at one of his foes. Stabbed through his side with his own weapon, the disarmed Mist Rider stumbled away from the fight.

Casually, the Shadow hurled the first of his own blades against the second of the former pair, and while the man was able to divert it from its course to his heart, it still slammed through his leg, bringing him down with a grunt.

**And then there was one.**

Knowing that if they were determined enough, the pair could return to battle in a moment, the Grey Shadow did a leaping backflip over the last of the Mist Riders, Mr. jumps-off-of-balconies. With his injured ankle, he couldn't get enough reach into the air to deliver a solid blow, and his sword just scraped along the woven armor.

The Shadow landed behind him, squatting low to the ground with one leg held out to the side. The man was still turning when the Shadow rotated his entire body in a circle, using his extended leg to knock the Mist Rider's feet out from under him.

He fell, expecting to bounce against the floor…He did not expect the flaring pain in his back, or the bloody tip of a serrated shortsword jammed clear through his chest for his eyes to see.

Chuckling to himself, the Grey Shadow stayed like that for a moment, suspending the man off of the ground by inches as he was speared on his blade. The eyes of the dying man, fluttering as his heartbeat and breathing became erratic, came to the side to stare at the emotionless skeletal faceplate that covered the Shadow's entire face.

"You're a monster…" The man rasped. "Nobody…can be this good…"

The Grey Shadow mustered a watery snort. _"You have all eternity to figure out why you were wrong."_ He tilted the man onto his side and pulled his weapon out, making sure that every inch of his weapon's teeth sawed away at the Mist Rider's insides as he did. He wiped the blood off of his weapon onto the man's back, noting the growing pool of blood underneath the assassin.

The last two weren't much of a challenge at all. The one injured by his thrown sword made a feeble attempt to defend himself with his own weapon, struggling to pull out the Shadow's shortsword from his leg as well. He couldn't do much in the span of three seconds, which was exactly how long it took the Grey Shadow to sever his head from his body. The last Mist Rider had gone into shock from his wound, and it became a mercy killing to decapitate him.

Wiping his blades off one last time, the Shadow turned about in the empty tavern full of bodies and looked towards the wizard Arlemyst, still pinned against the wall and whimpering. The daggers the Shadow had left in him had done their work; his face was ashen, and he was beginning to shiver as the life was drained from him.

Somehow, as the Shadow approached, the spellshaper managed to focus enough on the ring on his right hand to muster three blazing rays of fire. They struck out at the Shadow, and there was the barest impression of heat before they, like the wizard's magical bolts, simply snuffed out.

_"Oh, stop it. You're just embarrassing yourself now."_ The Shadow chastised the wizard, shaking his head. Arlemyst's lower lip trembled as the assassin came towards him and knelt, entirely unafraid.

"Please, d…don't kill me." He begged. The Shadow rolled his eyes, even more disgusted at the wounded man. Even when he was dying, Arlemyst Destane found a way to annoy him. "I'll give you anything! Money! Gems!"

_"I have my payment."_ The Shadow rasped, patting a hand against the moneypurse of gold ingots. _"Besides, you've gone and forced me to play my hand. I'm afraid I just can't let anyone live who's seen me at work. Professional security…and personal pride."_

"I could work for you!" The wizard said, panicking. "Surely, the services of the great Arlemyst Destane could be of use to your endeavors!"

He'd said his own name again. The Shadow let out a long sigh, and tilted his head to the side as if he was thinking about it. "_And what could Arlemyst Destane do for me?"_

"Arlemyst could bring all manner of magical doom upon your foes!" The mage promised eagerly. "He can help to make your enemies bleed!"

The Shadow hadn't been seriously entertaining the notion, of course, but he had thought it would be amusing to play the part for a while. And the while was over.

Slowly, he pulled out the enchanted dagger from Arlemyst's shoulder, and the wizard began to sigh in relief…Up until the Grey Shadow jammed it deep into his heart, and his velvet robes grew darker around the wound. Dumbstruck, unable to speak, he looked to the Shadow in disbelief.

_"My enemies always bleed."_ Came the Shadow's response. And then that was the end of it, and Arlemyst Destane, unloved arcanist of intrigue perished with a final exhalation.

Two minutes later, wrapped in his shroud once more, the Grey Shadow went into the streets of Baraden and calmly began to stroll out of town. The Mist Riders. A troublesome lot, really. They had, at one time, tried to convince him to join. But the Shadow worked alone, and worked well alone. He would have to leave quickly. News of their failed attempt on his life would travel fast in this stronghold of vice and skullduggery.

All in all, it wasn't a bad day. He had gained two enchanted daggers capable of sucking the life out of their victims, that magical ring Arlemyst had used against him, and his payment for the assassination in Sorvindal so long ago. His workout had been refreshing; it was nice to know that he could still make his multitude of advantages work for him, and how he had danced around that foolish mage…

He almost chuckled before he remembered the danger wasn't over yet.

**They're still coming. And if they're as bound and determined as I think they are, they might well make it to my stronghold.**

It meant he would see Marik again. Would _fight_ Marik again. Only this time, he assured himself, it would be different. He had hesitated, because he had realized what the Sorceror all in black was. The question had arisen in his mind…Did the young fool, for he would have had to be incredibly young and foolish, not sense the truth?

It would be a tragedy to have to kill him. It would be an even worse tragedy for the Grey Shadow to perish, without fulfilling his destiny.

**The next time we meet, Marik, we shall uncover the truth about you. And we will decide if you live…or if your head belongs on my wall.**

The Grey Shadow had never killed a…Had never killed a person of Marik's ilk before. Not once in his long career had it ever come to this. The Shadow wondered, dismissing the question one moment later in disgust, if he had the strength of conviction to kill Marik Observant.

He wondered what the others would think if he did not.

* * *

><p><em>"So, Ness, is this your first time up to Northern Ashra?" Came the good-humored voice of his superior. They were protecting a convoy traveling north from Lightfell into the country of Marnus Rhee. From there, they would go until they met the shore village of Khone, a hub of trade and commerce for the fishing industry. <em>

_ "Ness? Are you paying attention to me?" _

_ "Eh?" The swordsman blinked at the question. "I'm sorry, what did you say, sir?"_

_ The leader of their convoy, Sir Raleigh Finn, sighed. "Boy, I asked you if you had ever been up in Marnus Rhee before."_

_ "Can't say that I have." Ness murmured. "I've spent most of my time in the east and the south."_

_ "Well, this will all be new to you then." The old knight explained. "Once we have delivered Lord Blake to Khone, I have some friends who I'd like to see again."_

_ Riding ahead of the noble's carriage, behind their venerable leader, Ness found his weariness fading. "I'd like that, sir." It did his heart a lot of good to be away from the region of Ashra he had grown up in. The more distance between him and Samael's Lands, the better in his mind. _

_ "Do you think there'll be any trouble?" Ness asked, unconsciously grazing his hand across the hilt of the longsword riding at his hip._

_ "We'll have more cold weather than trouble, I'd imagine." The old knight mused. "And from that cloak of yours, you won't have to worry about that. Besides, Ness…If there is trouble, it's nothing we cannot handle." He gave the boy almost half his age a grin. "Not while we have you along, right?"_

_ It had been many years since Ness had parted ways with his last teacher. This old sellsword, wise but good-natured, filled in an old niche in his heart._

_ "I'll try my best, sir." _

_ "Fight with everything you have, boy, and always stand by your allies. That way, when the end comes, you won't die with regrets…and you won't die alone."_

_ "Ness…"_

_ "Ness…"_

* * *

><p><em>Western Samael's Lands<em>

"Ness!" A weight landed on his tousled brown hair, stirring him from his haze. "Blast it, chief, are you going to sleep the entire day away?"

"Huh?" Ness mumbled groggily.

Leathery wings clapped down over his ears, and he was shocked awake by the buffeting breeze. "Blast it!" Ness snapped, swinging a hand up to swipe away the offending creature.

Morris chuckled and took off just in the nick of time, causing Ness Benson to hit empty air. "Geez, you're a bad shot. Stick to your swords, chief. You'll live longer."

Still dozy, but slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, the swordsman lifted himself up out of his slumped saddle, wincing at the pain in his back.

_I slept like that? I'll be paying for it the rest of the day._

Shaking his head, Ness glanced around. They were still on the highway leading west, passing the distance easily on their horses.

_Not…not going north. That was a little more than eight years ago. Back when…_

Ness closed his eyes and stopped the memory. He didn't want to remember.

Marik was up ahead of him, leading the way. Morris was fluttering back and forth above them.

The sound of another horse behind him drew his attention, and Rachel pulled up alongside him.

"Good afternoon." The sixteen-year old Calyssan greeted him, smiling warmly. "Did you sleep well?"

"I must have been more tired than I realized." Ness offered, running a hand through his hair. "How long was I out?"

"About two hours. Marik took the lead in your place, and I've just been making sure your horse kept close."

"I see." The swordsman mused. "And who decided that Morris should be the one to wake me?"

"I think that was his own choice." Rachel answered, covering her mouth to hide her widening grin. "In any case, how are you feeling now?"

"…Aware." Ness commented, struggling for an appropriate word. "How far are we from Denvale?"

Morris must have heard the question, for he swung down and hovered beside the two of them, flashing another one of his grins.

"Marik says we'll reach Denvale by nightfall. That'll be the end of the road then, won't it?"

"The end of our ride, yes." Ness agreed. "But not the end of our journey. That won't end until we reach Istus and stop the Grey Shadow."

He was distant as he said it, and Rachel could sense the difference.

"Something's changed." The healer offered quietly, looking over to him. "Ness, what's bothering you? You've been so cold lately."

Not wanting to burden her any farther, Ness put on a gentler face, smiling weakly. "I've just been having some bad dreams, I suppose."

"Bad dreams?"

"Nothing you need to worry about." He reassured her. "I should stop snacking so late."

"You could use a shave, too." The young woman commented wryly. Ness arched an eyebrow at her, and Rachel smiled and turned away, blushing.

They were interrupted by a horrified shriek, and they whirled their heads towards a panicking Morris.

"The boss is in danger!" Morris howled, darting off down the road ahead of them. It was so out of the blue that the two of them froze for a moment, watching the imp fly off.

Then they saw a green goblin running towards them, not noticing them for several seconds. Dressed in a filthy patchwork shirt and half-trousers, it gave them a snarl before running off of the road.

It was twenty feet away when Rachel pulled the hand crossbow from her hip and held it up, narrowing an eye for the shot.

Ness glanced at her, marveling how confident she seemed holding the weapon. "Can you take him?"

"He can't run that fast." She remarked, squeezing the trigger. The feathered quarrel hissed through the air, slamming into the back of the goblin's skull. It fell dead in the grass beyond the road, fifty feet away.

Ness whistled appreciatively. "Have you been practicing with that?"

"I don't spend all my time brewing potions." She remarked, giving Ness a worried glance as she reloaded it. "Chances are there's more of those things up ahead with…"

"Marik." Ness finished, feeling his stomach sink low in panic.

They urged their horses onward, hoping that they would not be too late.

* * *

><p>Marik hadn't expected an attack. Samael's Lands was supposed to be one of the safest regions in all of Ashra to travel through, after all, and whatever passive sense allowed him to detect the Grey Shadow had been thankfully silent.<p>

The first javelin had come out of the tall grasses beside the road to the south, burying itself deep into the flank of his mount. The rented horse had not taken the blow well, and whinnied, nearly unseating Marik. By the time the second projectile buried itself through the horse's chest, the Sorceror had wisely decided that getting off of his steed might be a wise idea. Only by the miracle of a moment had he freed himself and not been pinned down when it collapsed onto its side, badly wounded and in no shape to flee.

The snarls and guttural, coarse language that came out as a warcry happened to be one of the eight other languages besides common Terran that he understood; goblin speech. _"Tear him to pieces and drag him away!" _Came the barking order.

Out of the brush had emerged a medium-sized band of twelve green goblins and four red goblins, the larger, more brutish kinfolk of the small green-skinned nuisances.

They must have thought him an easy target, with no visible weapons. Marik channeled his will into the reserve of magical strength within himself, growling at them. That small mistake would cost them dearly. Green light surrounded his left sleeve for a moment, just before he whirled it in an arc towards the charging horde. Three bolts of magic snapped out, each striking a different green in the chest. Each fell dead with a loud croak, quartering the onslaught's smaller force in a single sweep.

As a student of the road, Marik had done a minor research project on goblins when he was twelve. While that was a long eight years ago, something had stuck with him. The goblin clans were known for infighting; Without a strong leader, they could tear themselves apart trying to decide who was worthy of the role. Moreover, they were notorious for not caring if one of their comrades fell in a battle.

But three, however, with a single resounding blast…That slowed them down, curiously staring at the now announced mage with a mix of wonder and panic.

It gave Marik the time he needed to pull back, ready his springloaded longsword, and cast a protective aura over himself. It lastly gave him an opportunity to fall back on his ever-reliable link, and reach for his final advantage.

He needed his friend. He needed Morris. _**Morris, hurry it up! We've got trouble!**_

Morris said nothing back, but the worried feeling that passed over their empathic link said enough. He was coming, and the imp was panicking.

Marik wondered, as one of the more terrified goblins ran up the road towards Ness and Rachel who were trailing behind, if he shouldn't be panicking as well.

They crowded in around him, their first move being to encircle him and cut off any chance of escape. Grimly, Marik began to harness another blast of his magical bolts, waiting for the right opportunity.

_**Eight greens, and four of their red kin.**__**Why do I get the impression that someone doesn't like me all that much?**_

A red goblin charged in with two of his smaller green kin, waving a chained sickle above his head. The Sorceror fired off his three bolts, turning them all towards the more dangerous looking red. They landed solidly, jarring him backwards. Unfortunately, that left the two smaller attackers untouched, and they rushed in, trying to skewer him on their spears.

They might have, too, if a set of leathery wings hadn't reappeared, and Morris had struck out at them with a cackle. One of the beasts yelped and slapped up at his neck, cursing.

_"The little bat thing bits me!" _It screeched, moments before freezing up and falling to the ground paralyzed. With only one green goblin to worry about, Marik was able to parry his stab and cut a gash into him that set the other one out of commission as well. Cackling, Morris twirled about in midair and went invisible once again. Marik could still sense where he was, though.

_**It took you long enough to get here, Morris.**_

_What are you complaining about? You're not even bleeding yet!_

_**Rachel and Ness…?**_

_Ness woke up from his nap a few minutes ago. They should be right behind me._

The surviving red charged in, whipping his sickle and chain at Marik. The wicked cutting edge narrowly missed him, and it scraped across his sleeve with a thin cut. Wincing as he felt the rusted weapon slice through his spell of protection, Marik uttered a soft mental curse.

_**Three bolts and he still didn't drop. Morris, can you do something about him?**_

_ I can sting 'im, but that's not gonna stop him from clawing your face off!_

The imp was hovering nearby as Marik prepared another spell. Unlike his magical bolts, though, this one began to electrify his entire body. Marik's thoughts flickered briefly to Morris as he growled the last of what served for an incantation, and then the energy left him.

The spell's power slipped into Morris, causing the imp to let out a mental grunt of surprise.

_Boss…What was that?!_

Marik realized the spell he had been intending to use for himself had been passed on to Morris. _**Something to even the odds. Try hitting that red goblin now.**_

The chain of the goblinoid's sickle wrapped around his arms and chest, making Marik nearly helpless. The attacker advanced on him, a sick and toothy grin going over his features. _"Now youses will die, magic man!"_ He snarled, speaking in his native tongue.

_**Morris, anytime now…**_ Marik thought, struggling uselessly against the tight metal chains.

Once again, Morris reappeared out of nowhere. He jammed his tail into the red goblin's face, but along with the venomous sting, a surge of electricity rushed into the monster. He twitched for a moment as the power crackled through him and burned, and fell dead seconds later.

The effect, startling and sudden, bought them some more time as the rest of the awestruck goblin raiders began to grow less sure of their success.

Marik growled and channeled another spell of crackling electrical shock into Morris, flexing his body until the chains loosened and fell away from him. Imp and Sorceror glared at their attackers, knowing that they were still surrounded.

_**Any ideas, Morris?**_

_Yeah. How about we try not to die?_

_**Any **_**original **_**ideas?**_

_No, not really…but that's a neat little trick you and I just did. How did you come up with that?_

_**Something I read in an old historical text. It seems that there was a Sorceror during the Wars of Greed who was fond of having his cat electrocute people. **_

_Sounds like he had a sadistic streak._

_**I hope you're not implying anything, Morris.**_

_Of course not. I __**know**__ you're sadistic. _The imp teased him, going invisible. _Just don't let 'em kill you. All we have to do is last until Ness and Rachel get here._

"We're coming, Marik!" Came a cry from behind them. Up the road to the east, Ness Benson and Rachel were riding in at full gallop.

_**And here comes the cavalry.**_

One of the red goblins and four of the smaller greens turned away from the Sorceror towards the approaching riders. That still left Marik and Morris facing the sizable force of two of the larger brutes and a pair of the scrawny spear-carrying misfits. Morris let out a soft chuckle, somewhat eerie as it came from nowhere.

_Four against two…I think we can handle those odds._

Marik charged up another salvo of magical bolts in his left sleeve and gave a nod of his head. _**And I'm supposed to be the optimistic one.**_

Ness drew out his enchanted blade, Brightflame, and called its name aloud. It caught fire as he held it beside his charging mount, glaring down on the goblins. "Blasted creatures!" He screamed, moving his feet until he was riding sidesaddle towards them.

Rachel came up fast behind him, not nearly so brash in her own attack. Trying to hold her arm steady against the jarring motion of the horse, she aimed at the goblin leading the charge towards them and fired. The crossbow bolt hissed harmlessly over the beast's head, and Rachel bit her lip. "Missed." She muttered, moving to reload the device. At the same time, she slowed her horse down. She would get there slower than Ness, but she couldn't aim properly at the breakneck speeds the swordsman was going.

Ness plowed through the horde of the small goblins, trampling one who didn't move out of the way fast enough. He targeted the larger reds, coming at him with their saw-edged halberds. He positioned himself carefully, then leapt off of his horse with a powerful cry at the first. Surprised, the red goblin raised his long polearm up, hoping to let Ness skewer himself in the charge.

It was a testament to the older swordsman's ability when, still in midair, he managed a double-handed swing with his fiery bastard sword that pushed the pointed end away from his body, then carried on through to cut it clean off. His foe disarmed, Ness made a hard landing and charged. Panicking, the red swung what was left of his halberd's shaft at Ness, smacking his shoulder. Ignoring the flaring pain where the heavy wood had likely cracked bone through his covered chainmail, Ness slashed Brightflame against the red's chest and ended his life.

The second red goblin wasted no time in stabbing towards Ness with his own long polearm. The cutting edge scraped along the side of his midsection, leaving a nick through the chainmail, but failing to cause any lasting damage. Turning about, and now thoroughly annoyed, the swordsman switched to a one-handed grip on Brightflame and gripped the shaft of the warrior's halberd in the other. Surprised, the red tugged on his polearm, but could not budge it.

Ness' blue eyes burned as bright as the flames from his magical sword. "Not today, you beast."

The brute snarled and let go of the halberd, pulling out a scimitar from behind his back. Ness dropped his end of the long polearm as well and held his sword with his familiar two-handed grip.

Moving at a slower pace had worked; Rachel's second shot had been far more accurate, slicing through the neck of one of the three goblins Ness had left alive. The other two turned and ran at her, but Rachel dipped into her divine connection once again, and suddenly glowed with a radiating aura of white about her. The two goblins slowed, awed and wondering as they looked up at her.

Rachel smiled at them, relieved that the spell which gave her a peaceful aura and made weaker-minded creatures unwilling to attack her, had worked.

"I could get used to this." She murmured, casually lifting her reloaded crossbow back up at them. The creatures stared blankly at her, still caught in her aura.

She fired, and one died with a shot that pierced through its heart cleanly. The other blinked a few times, recovering from the broken spell's effect. Reacting, it snarled and charged towards her. Rachel's hand reached down to the small quiver of crossbow quarrels that hung on her right hip, beside where she kept the crossbow when it wasn't in use. Her dextrous fingers easily pulled one free, then set it into place on the crossbow's firing rail as she pulled the string back.

The goblin was nearly on top of her, its shortspear prepared to skewer her horse. Rachel lifted her weapon again and fired. It shot through the creature's open, screaming mouth and out the back of its neck. It choked a few times, stumbling backwards before it went limp and fell paralyzed and bleeding.

Rachel reloaded the crossbow as the green goblin turned its blank eyes towards her, unable to do anything else. She rode up beside the motionless creature and pointed it at its chest. "You do not deserve to die slowly." She commented, a little guilty that her first shot hadn't killed it outright. "You will not suffer."

She fired again, and the goblin finally fell dead.

Even as Ness and Rachel concluded their own battles, Marik and Morris were in a duel all their own. Marik held no false illusions that he could take them down in a rushing storm of slashes. His magic had proven to be far more effective anyhow. Morris unleashed the electrical charge Marik had endowed him with into the first red that charged, swinging about and clawing at the face of the green who rode up beside him. That gave Marik enough time to muster his Sorceror's hand again and conjure up a ball of flames. He picked it up in his magical grip and swung it about in front of him, the burning blaze causing them to back off long enough for Morris to gleefully stab the first of the smaller creatures in the arm and flutter off away from the retaliatory spear poke. The scrawny beast froze up a few moments later and collapsed sideways, no longer able to fight or move.

_Stop trying to scare them and hit one of these buggers already! I feel like I'm doing all the work!_

_**Oh yes. I work you to death, don't I? **_Marik retorted with a mental roll of his eyes. He directed the green hand and fireball into the face and chest of the nearest red goblin, the one weakened from Morris' electrical shock, and it let out a terrible scream before collapsing dead, unable to suffer any more trauma. _**Let's just not start on the entire 'But you just wave your arms and wiggle your fingers at people all day!' argument again. It took you two hours the last time.**_

_Yeah, and the jury is still out on who won that one. All I'm saying is…_

Morris was distracted just long enough for the remaining green goblinoid to swat at him with a thick wooden paddle, knocking him down out of the sky with a sharp pain in his tiny skull.

The beast stepped over on top of him, lifting the wooden beating stick above his head with a sick grin. _"Me smashed the bat thing!" _It cackled.

That was the last thing it said before the burning orb of fire smashed down on its head and burned its face away into a featureless husk. The last red roared and charged towards Marik, and the orb snuffed out as the Sorceror lost his focus.

"Crud…" Morris groaned, slowly picking himself up and rubbing at the injury.

_**It may just be 'finger wiggling' I do most days, Morris, but it's enough to save your grumbling carcass.**_

_Yeah, sure. Now go and save your own hide. I can take care of myself._ The imp thought back, feeling the bruise beginning to subside as his natural healing factor kicked in.

Smiling, even as the red came after him with his scimitar curving about in wild arcs, Marik couldn't resist one last parting shot. _**Your skull must be getting thicker. At least you stayed awake this time. **_

"Screw you, Observant!" Morris snapped, wincing as the lump on his skull sent a bolt of pain through him. "Ohhh, my head…" The imp decided that sitting was a good idea then. No, he was wrong again. He wanted to lie down. Yes, that was it.

The red goblin was ugly, it smelled bad, and it had brute strength on its side. But with his Sorceror's hand running defense, Marik had the upper hand in their duel. Every time that the brute tried to land a solid blow, the green appendage would slap across his face, or turn his swing off balance ever so slightly. Between the beast's attacks, Marik would cut in a darting poke or slice with his springloaded longsword, wearing the beast down with a successive series of small wounds instead of trying for a definitive blow. The strategy kept the red goblin at bay, which was what the Sorceror wanted. He had no intention of giving the creature who had wanted to kill him an even advantage, and with Morris temporarily out of the fight, that meant playing a more desperate game.

It breathed a little heavier as they continued to cross swords, landing a few glancing blows that failed to pierce through Marik's magical aura. Marik stubbornly kept on, beginning to sweat a little in his robes as well, but refusing to give up.

With one last roar, the sluggish and bleeding red swung at Marik and lost his balance. Rolling his eyes at the sight of the beast collapsing onto the ground, Marik retracted his blade and brought his Sorceror's hand to bear once again. A quick punch to its groin made the beast shudder for a moment, then pass out from the excruciating pain. Sighing once it was over, Marik turned about and looked to the others.

Morris picked himself up off of the ground, still woozy as he took to the air, but otherwise unharmed. Rachel trotted over to him with a worried look on her face, and Ness was busy cleaning Brightflame.

"Are you all right?" Rachel asked, wasting no time in dismounting and running over to Marik's horse. The mount whinnied softly from its injuries, and the girl set to work channeling her spells of healing into it and pulling out the javelins in its side.

Morris landed a little shakily onto Marik's shoulder and nodded. "The horse took the worst of it." He looked down to Marik's left arm, where the sickle had hit him. "And I suppose I got scraped a bit. Morris just has a headache. How about you and Ness? How did you fare?"

"We're fine." The healer assured him. Marik's horse, curious as to why it was no longer injured, stood back up on its feet and let out a snort. She took a moment to look to Marik, wondering. "Still, the fact that you walked out of that…"

Morris cleared his throat to stop her. "Hey, it's us, remember? It'll take more than a couple of goblinfolk to bring us down!"

Ness was silent as he led his mount up towards them, considering Marik and Morris with his soft blue eyes. Only when Rachel threw a glance at him did the swordsman stiffen. "Your spellcasting must have set them off-balance. A raiding party like this is usually forged of hardier resolve."

The Sorceror shrugged nonchalantly, and the imp took flight towards the red goblin Marik had decked with a shot to the groin.

"I think you worry too much some days." Rachel teased Ness, climbing back on her horse. "Marik's no ordinary spellshaper."

"And you're no ordinary healer, true enough." Ness admitted. "I'm…I'm surprised, I suppose."

"Surprised?" Rachel queried. "Did you expect this encounter to turn out differently?"

Feeling all the long miles of his own journey beginning to weigh on him again, Ness gave a shake of his head. "I just underestimate the two of you some days, is all."

It was better than the truth that a part of him expected them to die at some point in this journey, and leave him alone to continue his painful quest to defeat the Grey Shadow.

"Well, I've got some questions for this fella." Morris said, changing the subject. With his venomous tail waving back and forth behind him, he landed on the surviving red goblin and stuck it with his stinger. "Specifically, what a bunch of goblins are doing all the way out here in the middle of Samael's Lands!"

"I could wonder that myself." Ness agreed, rubbing at his chin. "They're not known to live in this region of Ashra."

Unconscious, the red goblin really had no way to resist the truth venom in Morris's potent sting. Dully, the wounded fellow opened his eyes and stared up to Morris.

The tiny imp opened its mouth, and in the guttural, growling speech of the goblinfolk, posed its question. _"Why is you attacking peoples?"_

Ness couldn't understand goblinspeech, and neither could Rachel. Marik calmly walked over to them with his arms in his sleeves and cleared his throat. _"You two don't speak goblin, do you?"_

"It's not exactly something most people teach." Ness said, amazed Marik would speak at all. "Do you know it, then?"

Marik nodded his head, and the swordsman rolled his eyes. "Good grief. You know how to speak goblin?"

_"And because of that, so does Morris."_ Came the dry, rasping reply.

"Just where did you…"

_"Bards."_ Marik reminded him simply, and Ness nodded, as if that answered everything.

Unaware of the minor exchange, Morris pressed on, using his connection with Marik to pick up and transmit the appropriate phrases in the goblinfolk tongue. _"I asked youses a question, hmm? What are you doing out here?"_

_ "Waiting for a wizard." _Came the slow, muted reply.

_"Why are you waiting for a wizard?"_

_ "We was told he would have a shiney rock thing, a…a…"_

_ "A crystal?" _Morris inferred. _"Was that it? A crystal?"_

_ "Yes." _The red goblin slurred.

_"Just where did you all come from?"_

_ "From the west."_

_ "…Istus? You came from Istus?" _Morris pressed, throwing a glance back to the others.

_ "Yeah."_

_"Why did you think we'd have the crystal?" _

_"The grouchy magic lady said the wizard would come on this road."_

_ "Do wees looks like a wizard?"_

_ "No. So thens the others are going to find him in Denvale, likes she said. They'll rides north tonight."_

Marik and Morris both froze, their mental link allowing them to share the thought without Morris having to break away from the red.

Denvale was not much farther west.

_"I wants youses to take a nap." _Morris ordered. The goblin yawned for a moment, nodded dreamily in reply to the command and passed out soon after.

With his horse now back to rights after Rachel's efforts, Marik climbed back on his mount and gave a slow nod to the others. Morris landed on his shoulder and cleared his throat.

"Something tells me we should hurry on to Denvale as fast as we can."

Ness took a few moments to kill the last few surviving creatures with some fast strokes of his longsword, then got back on his horse as well. His blue eyes were puzzled as he looked at Morris. "Why? What did you talk about?"

The imp's face was stonily serious. "They attacked Marik because they thought he was a wizard. They're after some sort of a crystal, and they've come all the way from Istus to get it." He pulled his wings around him, using them as a coat while he perched. "And the fun thing is, they're not the end of it. They have friends. Those friends are planning to attack Denvale."

The news caused Ness to shudder involuntarily, and even Rachel reached up to brush a hand along the hem of her shawl.

"If we hurry, we should get there in a couple of hours." Rachel Ashbury suggested, giving Ness a hopeful expression.

Keeping his fears and doubts to himself for a while longer, Ness gave a quick nod of his head. "Then we ride on." As an afterthought, Rachel cast one of her minor healing spells to take care of Marik's minor injury, and a slightly more powerful one to tend to Ness' bruised shoulder. Leaving the bodies of the small goblin's raiding party behind them, Ness Benson and his companions took to the west at full gallop.

With the memory of his dream still fresh in his mind, Ness couldn't stop the sinking feeling in his chest that an ill wind blew at their backs.

* * *

><p>The town of Denvale was nowhere near the size of Lightfell, but its collection of streets and buildings easily dwarfed the minimal structures that Kalen had boasted. All of it lay in front of the team as they rode into the east end.<p>

Ness nodded slowly. "Well, the place is still standing, and I'm not hearing any cries of panic." He glanced over to Morris, still sitting on Marik's shoulder with his wings tucked around him. "Morris, what can you see?"

The tiny imp stirred from his stupor and looked about, blinking his beady black eyes as he did. "It's Denvale."

The swordsman gave him an irritated stare. "Beyond that, Morris. What do your other senses tell you?"

"Oh, that." Morris remarked nonchalantly. "Nothing invisible. Mostly good-minded folk. A whole trove of magic in…" He waved his hand toward a tavern about two blocks away, "That direction. And of course, the stables are right there." He used a wing to point to an open barnlike structure to their left. "Relax. If there were goblins here, I'd know."

"You can detect goblins too?" Rachel asked, surprised.

Marik let out a rumbling chuckle before he stifled himself, and Morris grinned from his friend's faux pas. "Sure, just like anybody else does. You wait for the smell of unwashed feet and sweat, and listen for growling."

Rachel dismounted off of her horse and pulled her blue shawl tighter around her shoulders. "For a town that's going to be attacked by raiders, it's awfully peaceful." She brushed her long brown hair to the side of her face and looked over to Ness.

The swordsman stroked at his chin, the immediate danger averted. "They probably don't know." The townsfolk strolled about unaware of any doom which might befall them, giving the inbound riders only the barest look. "We don't want to create a sense of panic. We need to get a hold of the right people…"

"Oh, like the town elder?" Rachel suggested.

"Or mayor." Ness agreed. "The term changes from place to place, but it's about the same thing."

Marik considered all of that for a moment, then dismounted and gave Ness a nod. Morris took to a hovering position beside his spellforging friend and carried over the Sorceror's message.

"Well, if we need to find the leader of Denvale, then we'll start with the hub of activity; the tavern and lodge." Using his Sorceror's hand, Marik guided the reins of his horse over to Ness. "See to the horses. Morris and I will push ahead and look for the town official."

Ness frowned at the Sorceror. "What makes you think you can locate the mayor on your own? Or that anyone here will trust you enough to talk to you?"

The thought made Marik and Morris pause, and the imp shrugged sheepishly. "I…I didn't think about that." The winged devil glanced about, finally beginning to notice the odd and unfriendly looks that some of the hardened farmers and villagers were leveling their way. "I suppose they wouldn't."

Rachel led her horse over to Ness and handed over the reins. She looked back towards Marik and Morris with a smile and a brief nod. "I'll go with you." She turned to Ness, anticipating his question. "If I go with them, people should worry less. After all, respectable girls don't travel with dangerous strangers in hooded robes."

As always, Rachel's simple thinking made sense. His heart swelled with newfound respect and admiration for the woman he was enamored with, and Ness made an agreeable grunt.

"Keep an eye on those two, then." Ness said to her. "I'll catch up in a few moments." Beaming, but refraining from offering more emotion, Rachel gave another nod and walked towards Marik and Morris. Together, the three turned and began to walk towards the tavern, as Ness led their mounts towards the stables, where he would drop them off and pay the rest of the rental fees.

Denvale remained quiet and unaware.

* * *

><p>When one stopped to think about it, all tavern lodges looked about the same. You came in through the front door, and ventured into a foyer with a bar, a room full of tables, and the same semi-stale air permeated with the smells of alcohol and food.<p>

The one in Denvale had a few differences; The wall facing the street was composed of large windows that let in the daylight and eliminated much of the need for internal lighting. Another was that stale air was nonexistent, and the place was clean. There were a few patrons at the bar, and an indistinguishable gentleman in pale gray clothing calmly drinking a mug of something in the back.

All present took notice of the towering hooded figure covered in black as he strolled into the bar. However, when the young woman came in behind him, it eased their concerns. The barkeep, a woman in a smock and apron gave them a curt nod. "Afternoon, strangers. Is there something I can get for you?"

A slightly muffled voice from within Marik's hood replied, as the hidden Morris carried out his role as translator for the Sorceror once again. "We're looking for the town elder. It's a matter of utmost importance."

The woman, looking to be in her thirties considered it for a moment. "We don't have a town elder."

"What do you have?"

"We do have a mayor, of a sort." The slightly dumpy looking barmaid said. Underneath her tired, ageworn frame, she seemed to carry herself with a steely air, tough and resilient. "But why do you want to see the mayor?"

"We have reason to suspect Denvale is in danger." Morris, posing as Marik's voice, inferred.

The woman pulled the towel off of her shoulder and reached for a toothpick, popping it into her mouth. "Really now?" She said, a little annoyed. "What from, exactly?"

Rachel stepped out in front of Marik a ways and shook her head. "We were ambushed by a small band of goblins and their kin earlier this morning; they thought we had something they were looking for." The healer gave Marik a look out of the corner of her eye, then gave her head a soft shake. "But we didn't. They're coming here next." Rachel clasped her hands together. "We have to warn the mayor and everyone here; There's green and red goblins and Rosequeen knows what else coming, and…"

"All right, all right, I get it." The barkeep said, lifting her hands in surrender. "You've sold me. So what can I do for you, then?"

"You can take us to the mayor." Morris said, still tucked safely away in Marik's hood.

The barmaid gave him a slightly bemused expression as she wiped a hand on her apron. "The mayor's right here, son." She held out her hand towards Marik and Rachel. "Elise Sartis, at your service. Now who are you two?"

Knowing that Marik wouldn't feel at all willing to shake her hand, Rachel took the mayor's hand, surprised as she was, and gave it a shake. "My name's Rachel Ashbury. This is Marik Observant, and…"

"Well, hold on a moment." The woman murmured, scrutinizing them. "Where's Marik's little friend, Morris?"

Rachel couldn't help but put out a flustered look. "…Wha?"

"Or your Mr. Benson, for that matter." The mayor continued, smiling. "News travels fast in Samael's Lands, especially when it comes to saving an entire town in the south."

Rachel turned up to Marik, and the towering Sorceror gave a shrug of his shoulders.

Grumbling slightly, Morris pulled himself free of Marik's hood and clawed his way back to the mages' shoulder. He blinked a few times as he looked to Mayor Sartis, looking for any sign of concern.

Elise simply nodded appreciatively and pointed to his tail. "Can you really paralyze people with that?"

"Just the ones I don't like." Morris said, a little taken aback at her mood. The mayor laughed raucously, and was soon joined by the other patrons at the bar.

After she wiped at the corner of her eye, the mayor motioned to a set of empty seats along the counter. "Go ahead and have a seat, friends. I've got some bread and cheese in the back, if you're in the need of some nourishment. Once you've eaten, you can explain this attack to me."

She ducked into the back, leaving Marik, Morris, and Rachel to glance at each other. Morris spoke the question they were all thinking. "Just how do you think news about our exploits got out this far?"

"I can answer that." One of the patrons, a simply-dressed man down at the end of the bar said. He lifted his glass up and nodded to them. "A bard came through the other day, started spinning his tales to pay for his lunch. One of 'em was about you."

The look on Rachel's face was priceless. "He didn't happen to be wearing a feathered hat, was he?"

"No. Why do you ask?" The man queried.

Rachel exhaled and nodded. "Well, at least it wasn't Orville then."

"Oh, but it is Orville's fault." Morris grumbled, his monotone indicating Marik's words. "Just because he didn't _happen_ to be the bard who passed through Denvale, doesn't mean the one who did didn't hear it from him." The imp crossed his arms and stretched out his wings. "Orville Gracefoot likes us, remember? He said fame was just a consequence of what we were doing. And I know one thing about bards; they're not above spreading tidbits of adventures they've been on, or adventures of people they know for a free meal."

Rachel smiled a bit as they sat down at the counter, shaking her head. "Incredible. So. What do we do the next time we see him?"

"Beat him up for making us out to be heroes when we're not!" The imp began to snarl in his own voice, but he paused when Mayor Sartis came back out with a platter of freshly baked bread and large wedges of cheese.

"I didn't know what cheese you'd feel like, so I brought a few varieties." She said, giving them all another warm smile. "It's on the house."

Giggling a bit at the shock that came over the animated little devil's face, Rachel raised an eyebrow. "You'll beat him up, will you?"

Begrudgingly, Morris walked across the countertop and tore off a small section of bread the size of his face. "And then thank him." He said, all anger lost as he savored the meal that was a far cry from his usual crackers.

Mayor Elise Sartis took off her apron and leaned her arm against the counter. "Now, then." She said, growing more focused as Ness finally walked in the door. "Tell me just what exactly is heading our way."

* * *

><p>"It's a band of goblinfolk." Rachel explained. "They've come from Istus, and are somewhere south of Denvale."<p>

"They're planning to strike tonight." Morris interjected, swallowing another bite of the still warm bread. "They'll charge north."

"I see." The mayor said, lifting an eyebrow. "Do you all seem to have any particular idea why a rogue band out of lawless Istans would risk their lives, cross miles of land into Samael's Lands, and attack a town along the main western highway?"

"The one I interrogated mentioned something about a crystal." Morris inferred. "He thought Marik might have it. That's why they ambushed us."

"Luckily for us, their little assault didn't work." Ness Benson interjected. The man sitting in the back of the lodge gave them all a curious glance, but said nothing. Their conversation was interesting, but he didn't feel it was quite the right time to join in.

"Well, thank goodness for small miracles." Mayor Sartis exhaled. "But I'm afraid we don't have any sort of crystal in Denvale that they'd be after. At least not one that I know of."

"No, the crystal isn't here." Morris continued, adding to his argument. "The red goblin I hypnotized told me that a wizard was carrying it."

To this, the mayor and barmaid gained an annoyed glint in her eye. "Oh? A wizard, you say?"

The man in the back winced, even though she didn't look towards him. "As luck would have it, travelers, we do happen to have a mage passing through the area."

She finally pointed to the one obscure patron of her establishment. "Him."

Sighing as he set his mug down, the man dressed in drab grays looked towards them with a disinterested expression. "So now it's a crime to be a practitioner of the arcane arts? A shame." He brushed a hand over his clothes and shrugged. "So you're the folks who helped to save Kalen, eh?"

"Aah, you must wish to congratulate us." Ness answered drily.

"Actually, I couldn't care less." The man said shortly. His response caught them all off guard, but he made no motion to indicate that it was some sick joke.

The man stood up and hefted his satchel over his shoulder, walking over next to them all and giving a brief nod. "I suppose introductions are in order. Milon Friss, of Margrave's order. A priest, if you must."

"But the red goblin said that a wizard…"

The nondescript gentleman, a fellow in his thirties with a receding hairline of brown, let out a derisive snort and snapped his fingers, creating a blue hand out of thin air. "Come on now. Why would Margrave, the deity of magic use anything _but_ wizards to serve him?" He shook a finger at them, and the hand did as well. "I'm a practitioner of the high Indifferent's secrets. Believe me, I'm the spellshaper that they're after." He stroked at his chin. "Interesting. From Istus, you said?"

Growing displeased with the man in a hurry, Marik brought forth his own green Sorceror's hand and waggled it at him, not moving his arms an inch. Morris carried over the accusation. "Perhaps you would mind telling us why exactly you have goblinfolk chasing you across the border."

The ease with which Marik had manifested his own magical hand that had made Milon Friss, the gray-clothed wizard lift an eyebrow. He hardly batted an eye at all to the threat. "It would seem you are a spellweaver of no small talent either…Mr. Observant, wasn't it?"

Morris flew over and hovered close to Marik, acting as a buffer. "You just watch yourself there, bub! I'll have you know Marik's the best Sorceror you'll ever cross paths with!"

Now the mage known as Milon showed genuine interest. "A Sorceror?" He mused, stroking at his chin. "Amazing. I didn't think there were any Sorcerors left in Terrus. Your kind is so much of an anomaly, you know."

_**He doesn't know the half of it**_, came Marik's grim message to Morris. The imp snickered a bit, but recovered.

"All right. So you're the wizard they're after. So why? And why are they after a crystal?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea, Mr. Observant." Milon Friss retorted with a shrug. He looked over to a glowering Ness and shrugged again. "Honest. I just came from Istus, true enough. I had completed an excavation in the mountains along the Ocean of Idane, and am on my way back to Sorvindal." He set his bag down and rummaged around on the inside, producing a staff-sized crystal that was smooth at its base, and exploded outwards in a series of spiky protrusions. "This is what we found."

Marik stared at it for a moment, growling softly, and the imp harrumphed. "It's definitely magical."

"An astute observation, little familiar." Milon agreed. "But what exactly it does…well, that's something else entirely." He swept his face across the room with a grim stare. "I find it curious that a force of goblinfolk have been sent out of Istus to retrieve it. No, they're not acting on their own initiative. Somebody else has ordered them to march for this trinket."

"Like a 'grouchy, funny-eared lady'?" Morris posed, recalling another segment of the red goblin's speech.

Milon grunted softly. "I don't know anyone personally who fits that description, but, it's very possible." He tucked the crystal away and shook his head. "Well, I'll be out of Denvale soon enough. Then it won't be an issue."

"How soon?" Mayor Sartis asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Given what I know now, it would be in my best interests to get out of here this afternoon." He remarked calmly.

His answer surprised Ness, and it steamed Marik and Morris. The imp flew up next to the wizard's face and snarled at him. "You monster." Morris accused him. "The only reason Denvale is IN trouble is because you're here in the first place! You would leave without helping them to fight off the danger?"

"It's unfortunate, but it's not my problem." Milon said, growing annoyed. "You being in my face, however, is an issue."

Marik growled for a bit, but finally snorted with disdain and shook his hooded head. Morris stared with his black, beady eyes at the wizard defiantly. "Consider yourself lucky. Marik says we have bigger fish to fry than one of Margrave's selfish patrons."

Rachel considered it for a moment, then broke out into a smile as Marik turned to look at them. "You mean…"

Morris landed back onto his friend's shoulder and harrumphed. "There's no way that Marik and I are going to let a bunch of growling, snarling halfwits tear Denvale to pieces because of this selfish prig."

Still sitting at the counter, Ness drew a hand across his face. "By Cross's sword. Are you serious?"

"Perfectly serious." Morris answered. Rachel was beaming by this point and gave a nod to the Mayor.

"You three always end up dragging me into more trouble." Ness murmured. "Why is it we have to take every sideroad possible in our journey? We have our own mission ahead of us, and every time 'we' decide to go off gallivanting like this, we're pulled from it." He turned about in his seat and glowered at them. "So don't give me this 'we have to' nonsense. Just why in the blazes are we stopping our pursuit of the Grey Shadow here?"

Rachel began to say that it was the right thing to do, but halted herself when she realized it wasn't what he wanted to hear. Marik and Morris exchanged a look before the imp spoke up again, the calm clarity in his voice inferring Marik's presence. "I think I have a suitable answer for it in one of Father Rodian's old stories he told us once…"

All eyes in the room turned to them, curiosities piqued. "A father and his son were walking together, when they chanced upon a crossroads. Down one path was a road less sure, and fraught with danger, but there they knew were people who needed help. Down the other was a quieter road without any sort of trouble. The father turned to walk down the more dangerous road. The son stopped him, asking 'Why are you going that way? Why not take the safer route?' The father smiled and replied, 'Because this way is far more interesting.' His son protested, saying 'But you put yourself in danger! Why do you refuse the straighter course?' To this, the father shook his head. 'Who knows which path my life must take? Not even I fully know. But my heart tells me to go where I can do the most good, which is along that winding, dangerous path. And I will always trust in my heart to lead me."

Mayor Sartis slowly nodded her head in approval. Even the indifferent wizard, Milon Friss, curled his mouth into a smile, covering it quickly by picking up his glass and drinking a little more. Ness simply shook his head in disgust and turned back to the bar, waving a hand towards the Sorceror. "Do what you want." He chanced a glance at Rachel, who seemed a little crestfallen at his response. "You don't need me around to save the world, right?" He asked, immediately regretting the sharp response. The girl turned away, hurt by his words. Ness felt like slapping himself, but it came too late to do any good. "Rachel, I…"

"No, you're right." She said, standing up and readjusting her gear sadly. "I have to do what I think is right…and I'd do it, no matter what you or anyone else said." The hurt expression in her eyes tore at him as she walked over to Marik and gave him one last glance. "But I would have wanted you with me anyhow."

Unaware of the undertones that accompanied that soft statement, Marik and Morris prepared to depart. While Marik checked his backpack and scroll keeper, Morris was hurriedly stuffing as many pieces of fresh bread and crumbs of cheese into his vest pockets as he could.

At last ready, the Sorceror gave a nod to the bartender of the lodge and mayor of Denvale. Black eyes shining brightly, Morris let out a hearty laugh. "Don't worry yourself, Mayor Sartis. We'll take care of those goblinfolk before they can set one foot into this town!"

She gave the two travelers and the imp an appreciative nod. "We'll be in your debt if you can triumph." She concluded by glaring towards Milon Friss in the back of her establishment. "I'm just sorry you have to fix his mistakes."

"It's not a mistake." The wizard priest grumbled, folding his arms. "Chance alone has put this town in jeopardy."

"And yet you do nothing to help?!" The mayor accused him. "You forge a bad reputation for the emissaries of those in Margrave's service."

Tired of being insulted, the mage raised his hands in surrender and sighed. "Very well. I shall stay in Denvale. That way, you shall at least have a chance when they come."

The imp bared his fangs at the man known as Milon Friss. "Are you saying that you expect us to fail?"

"I think it far more likely that you'll perish out there." Came the terse reply. He said nothing else and turned his seat about, staring at the wall.

The healer shook off the comment and gave Marik a determined nod. "Are you ready?"

"Always." Morris chirped, and the three walked out of the lodge.

Ness Benson watched them depart with tired eyes, then looked over to the mayor and lifted a finger. "I'll take a mug of your house ale."

"You're not going with them, then?" Mayor Sartis inquired, reaching for a glass.

Feeling more tired than he had in a while, Ness set his arms on the counter and rested his head.

"They would stand more of a chance without me." He said quietly. The closer they came to Istus, after all, the more that his reputation worried him. The Cursed Blade had not claimed the lives of his comrades this entire time…But the inevitable was surely fast in coming.

* * *

><p>"I haven't seen Ness this dismal in a while." Rachel confessed to Marik as they crested over another hill. Walking at a brisk pace, the two had made good time in their trek south of Denvale. Morris was flying on ahead of them, using his invisibility and keen senses of detection to keep watch for any sign of trouble. "I mean, this isn't the first time we've gone off course to help people. We did it once with those bandits in Westshire, and again in Kalen."<p>

The towering mage shrugged his cloaked shoulders. _"Still, something's changed. Ever since we left Lightfell, he…"_

Marik and Rachel paused in the same moment, then glanced to each other. "Of course." Rachel murmured, shaking her head. "Your encounter with the Grey Shadow. He never did forgive himself, you know."

_"Stupid of him." _Marik grumbled, his watery rasp almost flippant. _"It wasn't his head the Shadow was after."_

"Nonetheless, I got the impression he blamed himself somehow." Rachel added. "I just wish he was here."

Marik had to agree with that, nodding his head. The skirmish east of Denvale had forced him to deplete a large amount of his magical reserves; He estimated that he had used about half of that essence saving his neck. _"Ness' presence would be…reassuring." _He finally said, not willing to go into detail about how much more cautious he would have to be in his tactics. The Sorceror picked up his pace a little bit, forging on ahead of Rachel to avoid further questions.

Wiping a bit of sweat from her brow from the day's heat, Rachel tried her best to keep up. "How can you be comfortable in that outfit in this weather?" She asked.

_"Comfort wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I set out." _He reminded her slowly, still moving at a fair clip. _"And no, I'm not all that comfortable."_

"Something tells me you'd fare better in the winter months." Rachel commented, smiling a bit. "Just how far ahead is Morris, anyhow? I can't see him anywhere."

_"He's about three hundred feet away from us, and seventy-five feet up in the air." _Marik responded. _"He can do us more good up there at the moment."_

"It's funny to watch the two of you." The Calyssan said, brushing her hair out of her face as the wind tried to annoy her.

_"Funny?" _Came the slightly confused voice of the cloaked Sorceror.

"Well, interesting, I guess." She continued. "Even back home, we heard stories of grand Druneweavers and their summoned companions, but you and Morris aren't like them."

_"He is only my familiar in a very crude sense." _Marik answered. _"He's my friend, Rachel, more than anything else." _

A blur of beating burnished wings crashed down onto Marik's shoulder, startling the mage. Grinning, Morris waggled an eyebrow. "Shucks, Marik. I'm your friend? I'm touched!"

Trying his best to ignore Rachel's giggles, Marik spoke up again. _"Find anything interesting?"_

"Yeah, trouble in a handbasket." The imp grumbled, his moment of levity ended. "They've pulled out some serious muscle for that dopey wizard back in Denvale. I counted two red goblins and a _brown_ goblin patrolling the area about four hundred feet ahead."

The reds didn't worry Marik, but the mention of a brown goblin, a ferocious branch of the goblin bloodline which was far larger and far more powerful, gave him reason to worry. He turned his hood towards Rachel, a little relieved to see he was not the only one who seemed worried.

Rachel looked to Morris. "Any chance we could get around them?"

"A decent enough scout might be able to elude 'em…but not us." Morris said glumly. "So what'll it be? Fight or flight?"

Of course, the imp expected only one answer to that question, and he was smiling a bit when he heard it.

_"Fight, Morris. As if I would say anything different."_

"Well, I wasn't asking you, to begin with." Morris shot back testily. "I was asking her."

Rachel thought about it for a moment, then went digging into her satchel. She pulled out two vials of a faintly glowing blue liquid, her more potent healing potions and gave them to Marik. "Just in case I can't pull you back from whatever sort of stunt you're likely to pull." She said. "We fight." To make her statement hit home, she unlatched her crossbow from her right hip and took it in her hand again.

"But without Ness here, who are you going to have protecting you?" Morris asked.

_"Us, of course." _Said Marik, as if it answered everything.

"I'm not some paper doll, Marik." Rachel chastised him, her blue eyes glimmering softly in the daylight. An aura of white light surrounded her to punctuate that rebuttal. "I can take care of myself. My faith is the only armor I need."

Glancing at her, even the two lifelong friends had to agree that neither harbored any ill thoughts towards her in that moment. Marik harrumphed a bit, his smile and face hidden within the darkness of his hood, and shrugged his shoulders.

_"It doesn't change the fact I'll still look out for you."_ He said finally.

"Why? Because you have some chauvinistic vision to uphold?"

_"Not hardly." _Marik rasped, only half-sincere. _"You've saved my life at least three times by now. I'm only doing my best to get out of your debt."_

It was a lousy comeback, but Rachel didn't care. She smiled all the same, and they charged off farther through Samael's fields and hills. It was funny he would make a comment about her just doing her job as their group's healer.

She wondered if he would start keeping count.

* * *

><p><em>It had been an ambush; A pair of trolls, creatures somewhere between beast and plant had come at them out of the swamps that dotted the roads. That in itself was deadly enough, but too late had they realized the decoy.<em>

_ "Protect Lord Blake!" Came the worried voice of Raleigh Finn. The bulk of their force, including their Commander, Sir Finn, was busy fending off the trolls. Even with their torches swinging about and threatening to burn the beasts, which was really the only way to keep one down permanently, they were losing ground at the front._

_ Only Ness Benson and Raleigh's squire were close enough to the Noble's carriage to mount a charge on their aggressor, a man in gray and black meshlike armor who wore a mask of cold iron, giving him a skeletal face in the midst of his swirling shroud. Almost casually, the attacker jumped off of the carriage roof towards them, and Ness and the squire raised their blades._

_ Seemingly out of nowhere, the dark assassin produced two serrated shortswords that glimmered in the midday light. The squire, carrying a broadsword and more courageous than Ness was, came in first with a ferocious horizontal slash. With grace and agility that nobody could have predicted, the skull-faced assassin crouched down as if pushed, holding his deadly blades crossed above his head in a V. When the squire's sword was directly above him, the eternally grinning vision of death snapped back up and caught the weapon between his, stopping the swing with sudden force and leaving his opponent stunned. _

_ Ness cried out for him to pull back too late; by then, the man in black and gray was charging towards the squire and halfway down the length of his blade, sliding his shortswords along the weapon and keeping him helpless. In that last crucial moment, when the shrouded assassin was a foot from the squire, he snapped his blades up, pushing the sword above the man's head. Roaring in fury, the squire began to swing his weapon down, hoping to cleave the assassin's head in two._

_ It was not to be, for the shrouded killer's shortswords moved far faster, slicing across the unlucky squire in two deep cuts. The first slash took the squire's head clean off of his shoulders. The second severed his torso from underarm to shoulder. _

_ Ness screamed and charged at the assassin, but the shrouded figure merely batted his sword aside and kicked him aside like a piece of trash. Gasping for breath, winded, Ness tried to move only to find his chest and newly broken ribs screaming to make him stop. He slumped into a motionless state, watching helplessly as the man in the skeletal faceplate approached the carriage._

_ Lord Blake finally emerged, face ashen but determined to uphold his nobility at any cost…Even his life. The white-haired man clenched a gloved hand at his side as the assassin paused to consider him for a moment. "So you are the one they call the Grey Shadow." Lord Blake said aloud, no hint of fear seeping into his voice. _

_ The assassin chuckled and gave one short nod. Lord Blake closed his eyes and turned his face towards the blue sky above. _

_ The Grey Shadow charged, even as Sir Finn and another man in his party, the only other one to survive the battle against the two trolls that the Shadow had used as diversion, came in shouting Lord Blake's name. A twelfth of a second later, none of that mattered. Lord Blake's body fell to the ground, and his head, hanging by the clenched mass of hair in the Shadow's left hand remained as stoic as ever. _

_ "_Bastard!_" Sir Finn screamed, rushing on without regard for his life alongside the other standing warrior. As Ness realized in dawning horror, The Grey Shadow feared little to nothing. His grace and dexterity allowed him to weave about unharmed in the field of Finn's slashes. He tired quickly of the game, though, and after ten seconds of that useless combat, stepped in after a particularly brutal slash and ended the old knight's life with a single stab. The other fellow expired just as quickly._

_ Crying softly, shaking instead of sobbing, Ness Benson watched as the Grey Shadow tucked Lord Blake's head inside of his tattered black shroud and casually walked over to him._

_ The two regarded each other for a quiet moment, the assassin and the wounded swordsman. With his terrified blue eyes, Ness looked up into the Shadow's dull metal faceplate, and saw empty white eyes behind them. He shut his eyelids, praying that the Shadow would kill him fast and painlessly._

_ That death never came. A few moments later, Ness' eyes opened to the sound of the Grey Shadow's footsteps, calmly and deliberately walking away from the weakling who had never stood a chance against him. _

_ Pressing a hand against his broken ribs, Ness trembled all the more as the assassin left him to die. In shame, he realized that the Shadow had thought him not worth the trouble of killing. Minutes later, when Ness found the strength to move again against his aching body and broken bones that he looked over the bodies of his comrades and the failed expedition and cried again._

_ He remembered the Shadow's burnished faceplate, and seared it into his memory. The Grey Shadow was responsible for his failure to protect Lord Blake. Until that faceless assassin was destroyed…_

* * *

><p>Ness Benson awoke with a strangled cry, his blue eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to place where he was.<p>

No, not Marnus Rhee. Not eight years ago. He was in the lodge at Denvale, with a lukewarm bowl of soup turned over his arm from when he'd snapped from his dream.

A chuckle from farther down the bar made the swordsman turn from the disappointing sight of his half-eaten meal. He glowered at the source. The gray-robed wizard Milon Friss lifted a glass of water to him, still smirking in his own superior fashion.

"What's so funny?" Ness demanded, using a napkin that a barmaid brought to him to clean himself off. The mage scratched at his chin thoughtfully, still wearing the same smirk.

"Nothing, Mr. Benson. Nothing at all."

Ness grunted and picked up his drink which he had not spilled, fortunately. "How long was I asleep?"

"About an hour and a half." The wizard answered. "Your friends have been gone for about an hour longer than that." Ness nodded slowly, and the wizard spoke up. "I was wondering, Mr. Benson. Why exactly did you choose not to go with them?"

"I…" Ness began, grasping for a suitable answer. "I would just slow them down."

Milon considered that for a moment as he glanced about the bar. Satisfied that nobody else was listening in, he leaned in close. "Or are you just afraid you'd get them killed?"

Ness' eyes widened for a moment before he grew terse. The wizard shrugged and pulled back, not willing to risk a backhand. "How did you come to know of my name?" Ness growled.

Milon restrained a smirk, settling on a more indifferent drawl. "Come now, Mr. Benson. I'm _paid_ to know things."

Ness turned away, glowering. "That's all that concerns you, isn't it? Money and your own self-interest."

"The same could be said of you, as well." Milon retorted, taking another swallow of his ale. "Your quest to defeat the Grey Shadow carries a substantial monetary sum with it."

Ness seethed at the comparison. "Men have died going after him. If money was the only reason I chased him, I would have given up for less dangerous prey a long time ago."

"And saved a lot of courageous boys' lives in the process." Milon noted grimly.

Ness's hand tightened into a fist on the counter. "Is there a point to your grumbling, wizard?"

"I'm just wondering why you would choose to remain behind here in Denvale while the rest of your comrades march off to stop an invasion."

"You know my reputation." Ness snapped softly. "You should know better than anyone why they're better off without me."

Milon shrugged to that. "In most cases, I would agree with you, but…" He paused, then clucked his tongue. "Well, no matter."

Ness froze at that, glancing towards the indifferent wizard as he spun his waterglass. "Just what do you mean by that?" He growled, suddenly worried.

Milon shrugged. "I could mean many things. Why do you care enough to ask?"

Ness stood up from his barstool, towering over the unimpressive-looking wizard of Margrave. "If they're in danger, so help me I'll…"

"Oh, stop threatening me." Milon snapped, glaring back at his aggressor. "It won't make me give you the answers you want any faster."

Ness kept his arms at his sides. "They are my friends, Milon. Are you telling me that they are…"

"I'd just like you to ask yourself, are they in more danger with you, or without you?" Milon interrupted coldly. "Then ask yourself which path your 'reputation' is destined to play out on." Milon rolled his eyes. "And while you're thinking about that little tidbit, take a seat."

Ness did so.

Sighing, Milon lifted a hand up. "Barkeep! Some more ale, if you please." As the glass was taken away from him, Milon ventured some more conversation. "You know, Mr. Benson, I had a reason for staying here in Denvale, instead of traveling east."

"Would it have anything to do with the fact that you didn't want to anger the mayor any more than she already was?"

"Admittedly, opting to stay got her off of my back, but that wasn't the real reason." Milon noted. "Your friend Mr. Observant…Interests me. Sorcerors are a rarity in any age, and Marik is the first one alive I've run across. Most Sorcerors, unlike your friend, are known for madness and evil. They're supposed to have devastating potential, but…" Milon let the sentence hang for a moment before continuing. "Well, I suppose I'll never know."

"If you're trying to say something, just say it." Ness pleaded.

Milon examined his nails, perfectly trimmed and groomed. "If the stories are true, then Mr. Observant can wield incredible power. But nobody, not even your cunning friend can throw spells all day, and Miss Ashbury's crossbow arrows can only go so far. When that happens, woe to the fool who is without a means of lesser defense."

The wizard pulled the edge of his outer robes back, revealing a glimmering longsword strapped to his side. He gave Ness a look. "Magic can be exhausted. But a _sword_ is eternal, in comparison to the art that I wield. And believe me, Marik is not limitless, as much as he seems to be."

The barmaid brought Milon his drink, and he took in a long draught before sighing. "Too bad. There were things I would have liked to discuss with him. He and his imp familiar are interesting."

Ness closed his eyes. "So they are in danger."

"When are they not, while they follow in your footsteps?" Milon snorted. "You're drawn to danger, Benson. You've made a career of it."

"So what are you telling me then?!" Ness demanded, pounding a fist on the counter. "Are you telling me that they'll die because I'm not there, or because I go to find them and doom them by being there?"

Milon shrugged. "I'm not telling you anything of the sort. I'm just pointing out the facts."

"Enough of your facts, then." Ness snapped. He turned for the door.

Milon raised his glass and paused before taking another drink. "And just where are you off to, then?"

"To catch up to them!" Ness barked. "Far too long I've played a fool to all this, and I let them go down a detour without me!"

"And if they die when you are there?" Milon asked, arching an eyebrow.

Feeling precious time being pulled from him, Ness shook his head angrily. In its sheathe at his back, Brightflame pulsed with anticipation. "If they are to die, I will not have it be because I _left them to die!"_

Ness stormed out of the lodge, leaving Milon to stroke at his chin and smile. "So, then. You've finally made up your mind, Cursed Blade?" He stood up and tossed a few gold coins on the bar to pay for his tab. Lifting his rucksack on his shoulders, he set out after the rushing swordsman. Time was running out.

* * *

><p>Ness didn't know whether to cry or to scream. He opted to storm off towards Denvale's southern edge, anticipating a long and harried run after them.<p>

"Mr. Benson!" Came the voice of Milon Friss after him. Ness turned to regard the wizard priest coldly.

"What do you want now, coward?"

"I'm insulted by that." Milon remarked. "I just thought I'd point out something before you went dashing off. At the distance they are from you, you would never make it to them in time."

"I have to try." Ness argued resolutely. "I have no other choice."

"I'm glad you feel that way." Milon said, seeming more chipper afterwards. "I would have felt a fool otherwise."

Pausing to consider the comment, Ness looked to the mage. "What do you mean by that?"

Milon stared off into the distance, scrutinizing for something that the swordsman couldn't detect. "Aah, there they are." He motioned to Ness to come closer to him. "I'll get you to them, Ness."

"You'll teleport me?"

"It's a simple enough concept, in practice." Milon explained. "We may land a distance away from them, as I don't know the terrain of this land all that well, but it's a risk we'll have to take."

Ness swallowed, remembering some of the things he'd heard rumored about teleporting wizards. "You're not going to make us reappear in a tree, are you?"

The nondescript mage snorted derisively at that. "That's a highly unlikely possibility. Only in the most extreme cases has teleportation resulted in meshing with material as the destination, and we're not exactly trying to appear inside of a mountain. Come now, Mr. Benson. Surely you can muster some of that courage you displayed earlier for a short journey such as this."

He really didn't have any other choice, Ness realized. Not if he meant to save Marik, Morris, and Rachel from an untimely demise. Steeling his nerves, he stepped beside Milon. "Work your spells then, wizard. But hurry."

Harrumphing at the notion, Milon grasped Ness by the arm and began to chant in an unintelligible arcane dialect. There was the sensation of something tingly blowing about them a few seconds later, and then the world seemed to fade to white.

What seemed like a moment later, they reappeared far from Denvale's relative civilization, out in the fields and rolling hills of the countryside. Thankfully, Ness noted as he exhaled, they stood on solid ground, and were none the worse for wear.

Milon stepped away from Ness and began to look about again, pointing in a specific direction soon after. "Your friends are that way."

"How can you be so sure?" Ness demanded.

"Simple." Milon Friss harrumphed. "Before Mr. Observant left the lodge, I left an ethereal marker on the edge of his cloak. I thought you might reconsider, and it seemed the easiest way to track them." He pointed again. "Go that way about three-quarters of a mile, and you will find them."

As an afterthought, he dug into the pouch of bizarre ingredients at his waist and began to weave his will again. Ness felt a strange force descend over him, and the tired looking wizard waved him off. "I'd hurry." He urged the swordsman. "My enchantments will only last so long."

"Why are you doing this?" Ness asked, confused. "I thought you didn't care about Denvale."

"I don't." Milon Friss harrumphed, giving the swordsman a soft smile. "But it would be a shame if I didn't get to see Mr. Observant again. And be sure to tell him, _when_ you all come back, I have something to give him."

Ness shook his head to the strange spellshaper. "I just can't figure you out, Mr. wizard."

"And let's pray that you never will." Milon Friss observed, stroking his chin. "I _do_ have a reputation to uphold, after all. You can pay me for the transport when you return."

Ness began to voice a complaint to the 'charge', but Milon had uttered a few more syllables and vanished in a beam of light that shot up into the sky before he could begin half of his sentence.

Seeing the end of it, Ness Benson took off running, feeling so much faster from the spell the wizard of Margrave had given him as a parting gift. Later, he decided, he would sit down and think about what Milon Friss was really after, and if the wizard had helped Ness as an act of kindness, or simply out of his own selfish desires. That was for later. Trouble was brewing up ahead.

Ness only hoped he would not be too late.

* * *

><p>The goblinoid patrol continued on through their predetermined course, looking in every direction for trouble. They were the farthest scouts out, but even their slow-witted brown goblin wasn't concerned.<p>

Not until a fireball, guided by a transparent green hand crashed down on the leading red goblin's face and roasted him alive. The beast screamed in pain and tried to escape the magical fire, but it stubbornly followed him and scorched his back with the killing blow.

The surviving red drew out his rusty greatsword and stared about, looking for the source of the sudden attack. His larger companion snarled through his deformed, tusk-filled mouth and swung his massive spiked club about in front of it.

_"Where did it come from?!" _The brown growled in their guttural language. The red stared about, finally spotting a flash of black up in a tree above that drew his attention.

_"Hims!" _He snarled, dodging to the side as the burning ball swung in again. It snuffed out a few moments later, the aether in it exhausted. The large brown wasted no time in running up to the tree, roaring and swinging its heavy club. The blow made the entire tree shudder, and Marik was forced to jump down. Midfall, he drew his right arm back and snapped out his longsword, bracing himself for the first strike.

The red goblin came charging in towards the Sorceror in black soon after, goading his ally on. He was ten feet from them when he felt the sharp report of an arrow slamming into his shoulder, and more curious, a lesser sting that jammed into the back of his neck. Blindsided, he swatted angrily at a strange winged creature that appeared out of thin air, then reached for the arrow in his shoulder. Ripping it out with a grunt, he stared at the projectile in his hand. Not an arrow, but a crossbow bolt.

He turned in the direction where the shot had come from, and saw a young human woman leveling a crossbow in a one-handed grip at him again. He took two steps towards her and she fired again, hitting him in the right side of his chest. Still grimacing, the beastly warrior wondered why he was moving so slow.

Providing the answer, the winged creature laughed above his head, _waving_ at him with a smirk on his face. The red felt another crossbow bolt, better aimed, sink into his throat. Beyond the impact as his back hit the ground, he didn't feel much else. The paralytic venom of the imp's sting and the three crossbow shots took care of that.

The larger brown goblin may have been huge and slow, but that didn't make it any easier of a target for Marik to deal with. The overhead slash he'd mustered on the jump down had been stopped cold just by the ferocious creature simply raising its club up and pushing Marik back. Marik had kept his balance by continuing through with the force of the club's push, spinning in a backflip before kicking his boots into the beast's chest and leaping backwards. Skidding into a crouch, he lifted his hooded head up and stared incredulously at the thing.

_**Morris, do you remember anything about fighting brown goblins from the lessons Rodian gave us?**_

_Those were your lessons! I was taking a nap at the time!_

The Sorceror gave an unseen grimace as the thing roared and charged at him, its thick spiked club swinging back and forth. _**Terrific. All I remember is that they're born sexless. Well, we'll make this up as we go along.**_

Trying to conserve his power, Marik straightened his left arm out and fired off a small beam of icy blue light, one of his more reliable cantrips. The beast's movements were erratic, however, so the frozen mist meant for its' face skewered past its' ear with minimal effect. Cursing, Marik jumped to his feet and tried to jump backwards out of the way of the swing. The brown came on without stopping, and smashed the unspiked side of the massive club into Marik's waist.

The impact wasn't so much of a hammerblow as it was being thrown by a mountain. Injured from the concussive smash, Marik was tossed to the side until he smashed backfirst into another tree. The stars in his eyes and Rachel's scream were the first signs Marik had that anything was horribly wrong.

_"Now yous die!" _The huge brown goblin snarled, coming in close to Marik and lifting the club above its head. Numbly, the Sorceror tried to clear his vision, not suspecting he was moments away from having his skull bashed in.

Morris' poisonous sting jammed into the creature's thick neck in perfect synch with the long end of Rachel's whip wrapping around its arm and pulling back. Rachel strained against the creature several times stronger than her, halting his efforts for a bit.

_"Stupid lady!" _The dimwitted brown goblin snarled, pulling hard on the whip. Rachel yelped as she was lifted off the ground, but managed to let go before he could send her for too wild of a ride. The short drop still knocked the wind out of her when she met ground again. The brute wasn't fazed by the sting in its neck at all. Finally clearing his senses of the pain-filled haze, Marik pulled himself to his feet and managed a shaky slash across the beast's chest. It nicked into the creature's flesh a bit before meeting the piecemeal armor and dashing off.

The brute roared in pain and brought in a swinging fist in at Marik. Again, the Sorceror registered the impact of another tremendous blow. Thankfully, he missed the tree this time, and skidded backwards along the ground. It didn't stop the beast from coming closer, and both Rachel and Morris screamed out his name again, horrified and unable to do anything.

The bestial goblinoid lifted its club up above the now helpless Marik Observant, and prepared to end it all. The blow never fell. A powerful scream, accentuated by the slash of a fiery sword ended the danger to Marik's life in an instant. The heavy club fell to the ground with a thud, and the dead brown goblin collapsed after it.

Marik opened his eyes inside the darkness of his hood and looked up to see Ness Benson standing there, his green cloak flaring out behind him and Brightflame burning in his right hand.

It was Rachel who spoke first, standing back up after recovering her breath. "Ness?" She said, hardly believing it. "What are you doing here?"

Looking about, Ness Benson's blue eyes looked for any further sign of trouble. Only when he was satisfied did he put his sword away. "For better or worse, we are a _team_. And I am not going to sit back and let more of my comrades perish." Marik struggled to his feet, looking to Rachel as he stood up.

"Oh, hold on, Marik…" Rachel murmured, concentrating for a bit and casting a spell of healing towards him. Blue motes of light danced over the Sorceror, and he straightened up, less bruised from the forceful blows of the goblin behemoth.

Morris plopped onto Ness' shoulder and laughed. "I knew you couldn't get away from us!" He goaded the swordsman. "But damn, it's good to see you! Marik nearly bought the farm back there!"

Marik conjured another green hand and gave Morris a rude gesture to the comment. Rachel smiled as she finished wrapping up her bullwhip, then went to give Ness a thankful hug. "We thought we could handle it, but…"

Ness shook his head, then tapped his hand against the hilt of his longsword at his hip. "Magic can be exhausted. A sword is eternal." He said, repeating Milon's warning. "It was stupid of me to stay behind and let you three risk your lives without me." Ness shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Just how did you get here so fast?" Morris asked, carrying over Marik's question.

"I had a little help from that wizard back in the lodge." Ness admitted.

"That grumbling servant of Margrave?" Morris snorted, at the same time Marik did. "Why would he care?"

"I honestly have no idea." Ness admitted. "But he got me here in time to save you, so I'm in his debt."

"You'll stay with us, then?" Rachel asked hopefully. "Help us stop the invasion of Denvale before it can take place?"

Ness bit his lip. "Yes. But before we go on, there is something I must tell you." He stepped back as Marik came up beside Rachel, glancing out of the corner of his eye to the imp sitting on his shoulder. "All of you."

With a foot, Ness rolled the dead brown onto its back, then sat down on its stomach with a sigh. He looked up at them with such a grave expression that any questions they might have had were silenced. "Ever since we left Lightfell, the two of you must have noticed that I wasn't as relaxed as before. The Grey Shadow's attack on Marik was responsible for that, but it was not so much the attack as something that runs deeper." Ness blinked at them. "Did either of you think it odd that nobody else besides you two took this mission with me? Or that I asked you to be sure of your intention?"

Marik and Morris thought back, and the imp nodded vigorously. "I believe we told you that as long as there was some money to be made doing it, we'd take on the danger." Rachel folded her arms behind her back and looked to Ness silently, wondering just where it was all leading.

"There's been danger for eight years." Ness concluded softly. "Ever since the Shadow and I first crossed paths, he's been killing everyone around me, but not me. Sometimes he's ignored me, other times I've just been luckier than the others. With all the expeditions I had been on in all the years after, I was given a nickname to match my reputation."

The blue-eyed swordsman stared towards Marik. "And in all this time, I'm surprised that _you_, Marik, who seems to know everything there's worth knowing, never placed it. To you, I'm Ness Benson. To most of Ashra, I'm not a face, or a person. I'm a walking curse. The Cursed Blade."

Marik and Morris both recoiled at that, their telepathic bond sharing the sudden confusion. Rachel stared blankly, without an idea in her head as to why that was such a terrible thing.

"You?" Morris squeaked. "You mean, you're the Cursed Blade? The bane of all adventurers?"

"One and the same." Ness Benson murmured, looking to the ground. "The man who always lives while all his allies perish around him. It's been haunting me for years, and I thought that I had finally escaped its grip, but…" He motioned towards Marik and shook his head. "But then the Shadow nearly took you away from us. I'm still the Cursed Blade, as much as I try to tell myself that I'm not."

Morris fluttered off of the swordsman's shoulder and went back to hovering around Marik. "So why wait until now to tell us?" The little winged devil demanded. "Why now, when we're nearly at Istus?"

"If you had known, would you have come?" Ness asked, no sarcasm in what was usually a sarcastic statement. He picked his head up and stared at them all. "I thought that maybe this time, it would be different. But all I'm doing is putting all of your lives in jeopardy." He chewed on his lip for a moment, then sighed. "If you wanted to leave, return home, or chase a different road, then I would understand. I just could not continue this quest any longer without all of you knowing the whole truth of it. I am the Cursed Blade, and you were all in danger the moment you joined with me."

Marik and Morris said nothing for a bit, and the imp shrugged. Unconsciously, Rachel stared up wonderingly into the dark, seemingly empty hood of the giant Sorceror, searching for a sign as she formulated her own response that the spellcaster was thinking the same thing. Her gentle blue eyes glimmered with understanding when the quiet Marik gave a single nod of his head.

Rachel walked over to Ness, standing there as he looked down at the ground in shame. Her hand found his shoulder, and he looked up in surprise.

Determination and acceptance was all that he could see in her posture. "You are _not_ The Cursed Blade." She uttered softly, her brown hair bouncing about her shoulders as she shook her head. "Not if you believe in us."

Ness blinked, not sure if he had heard her correctly. Her reassuring smile removed any doubt. "You…you would stay with me?"

"Come _ON_, Ness!" Morris piped up again, feeling as chipper as ever. "We've survived bandits, vampires, ghouls, zombies, fire bats, every breed of goblin, and even ex-druids fighting with you! If we were going to die, it would have happened a long time ago!" As an afterthought, and more composed as Marik took over, he added, "Besides, this mission's not done with. Until the Grey Shadow's dead, we don't get paid. It'd be stupid to leave before we get the reward for making Ashra a safer place."

Ness slowly stood up, shaking his head in disbelief as he grinned back at them. "You know what's funny? I do believe in you."

"Oh, that's just their youthful optimism." Morris retorted, earning a slap from Marik's magical hand for the comment.

Rachel took Ness' hand in hers, still smiling in her gentle way. "So are we going to finish this, or not?"

Ness squeezed her hand back and nodded. "We'll finish this…and then it's on to Istus."

_"Damn right." _Marik rasped in his gravelly voice, and for a change, Morris didn't chastise him for it. Ness looked to his Sorceror and blinked a few times.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that voice of yours. Tell me, Marik, how many more spells do you think you could muster?"

The Sorceror examined his comrades for a long moment as he pondered that. Rachel Ashbury, the healer from another world who believed in him and did not care how he sounded, and the righteous Ness Benson, who was on the path to exorcise his own demons. Ness could complain all he wanted about Marik's voice as long as she was around. The shining power in Rachel's eyes had been captivating him ever since she had healed him in Lightfell, giving him hope. After they were done with these goblinfolk, Marik would find some way to return the favor, and express his feelings for the girl who was like nothing he had ever known.

_"I've got enough in me for a few more." _Marik rasped. _"Just don't go asking me to bolster your defenses."_

"Fair enough." Ness answered, rubbing a hand along the shirt and chainmail covering his chest. "I'm used to keeping myself alive." He threw Marik a wink. "And you now."

"Keeping him alive is my job, Ness." Rachel complained, and the spritely devil up in the air laughed.

The young Calyssan passed Ness two of her green healing potions and one blue, and they set out again. If they had a choice, they preferred to attack the beasts in broad daylight rather than night.

There were still more miles ahead of them before they'd reach the camp of raiders from Istus. They would have to hurry, for it was already mid-afternoon.

* * *

><p>The sun was an hour from disappearing before they finally reached their destination. In the hazy pink glow of sunset, Ness, Marik and Rachel hid behind a small hill, with the swordsman throwing a furtive glance every now and then to the camp in the distance.<p>

It was simple looking enough, with a few cookfires here and there slowly being put out. "They're getting ready to move out soon." Ness explained, looking to his comrades. Rachel kept her crossbow at the ready, but Marik seemed remarkably unfazed by matters. "Marik, where's Morris?" Ness demanded impatiently.

The Sorceror shrugged, saying nothing. Thankfully, a fluttering of familiar wings came close and the vest and trouser wearing imp reappeared beside them. "It's not good; they came prepared." Morris observed. "I could make out fifteen greens, five browns, and ten reds in that camp."

"And it's likely not their full number, either." Ness murmured. "They still have patrols out." They had narrowly avoided detection by two more on their way in, which left the real tally in the air.

"Anything else in the camp to worry about besides large numbers?" Rachel asked, noting she would be using her spell-powered aura of pacifism sooner than expected.

"This place is pretty empty of magic. Only one tent had anything that I could pick up." The imp said, blinking his sharp, beady eyes.

_**What exactly did you pick up? A trinket of some sort, or…something else?**_

"I don't rightly know." Morris harrumphed. "I didn't feel like trying to fly inside to take a peek, not with that mage woman in there."

Ness and his comrades all sat up a little straighter at that. "A mage? Here?" Ness murmured, surprised.

"Well, it does explain what that red goblin we interrogated earlier today meant by 'magic lady'." Morris harrumphed. "I guess our friend Mr. Friss is more interesting than we gave him credit for."

Ness looked to Marik. "If you had to…could you take her?"

Marik glanced to Morris, who shrugged. "She had a spellbook in there, and she was prepping for battle."

Marik thought over it for a moment, then sighed. Morris took over for him. "Marik says he might be able to take her, if he gets to her before she finishes memorizing all her spells. It'll be a duel between spellcrafters, though, and Marik doesn't have that much pep left in him at the moment."

"Just keep her off my back, that's all I ask." Ness nodded firmly. Brightflame pulsed against his back, and the swordsman clenched a fist. "I can handle the others."

Rachel gave the stubbled Benson a disapproving scowl. "Ness, be serious! There's at least thirty different goblinkin in that camp, you can't take them all! This isn't like the last time we fought!"

"True." Ness admitted, a little deflated. He mulled over the idea in his head and looked to Marik and Morris. "Morris, you're our wildcard."

"Me?" The imp asked incredulously. "Why me?"

"Because they won't be expecting you." Ness inferred. "That paralyzing sting of yours has proved devastatingly effective in the past, and I think it can do so again."

"Don't be expecting me to drop any of those brutish browns." Morris grumbled. "They're more resistant than the others."

"Do what you can, keep them distracted."

"In other words, trying to shoot and swing at me instead of you?"

"That's the general idea, yes."

"You're a frigging saint, Benson." Morris Redtail grumbled.

Rachel thought about it for a moment. "So my job will be to make sure that you three clods don't keel over and die, is that it?"

"Well, that and using that crossbow to cut down their numbers." Ness remarked.

"All right. Does anyone else think this plan needs some serious work?" Morris interjected tersely. "Because right now, it sounds like the plan is to rush in there and catch them with their pants down, and that's a lot of hoping."

"Provided Marik can deal with their wizard, I've good hope for the rest of this little skirmish." Ness clarified.

_"That's awfully optimistic of you." _Marik noted, not wanting to bother with the third wheel of having Morris speak for him. _"But all right. If we're going to do this, let's start now."_

"Hold on." Rachel said, clasping her hands together. The puzzled menfolk waited patiently as she recited a few lines of scripture to herself, then reached her hands out and touched them on their forearms. Her aura came into being for a moment, and the swordsman and Sorceror felt a brief twinge of confidence flow into them. "You'll need that. A little divine aid never hurt."

"So, the goddess of beauty can help even uncultured 'clods' like us fight a little better?" Morris chuckled, flexing his tiny claws. Rachel pulled her scarf a little tighter around her neck and nodded.

"One has to be able to defend their friends in this world, or else beauty has no place to grow." She gave Ness a wink she masked as a blink, which the Sorceror and imp missed, but Ness picked up easily.

"All right then." Ness said easily. "Marik…Can you get in there and deal with her?" The Sorceror mulled it over for a moment, then began to growl. A few seconds later, he disappeared, and only the sound of soft footsteps indicated his departure.

Ness and Rachel flattened themselves against the hill a little bit more and waited.

"Good luck, boss." Morris said hopefully. "Don't do anything stupid."

* * *

><p>Under the cover of invisibility, Marik Observant weaved through the camp unharried by any of the goblinoids preparing for the night raid. The tent that Morris had found questionable was easily picked out; it was the only one with midnight blue canvas.<p>

It was also the only one with a wizard inside. How powerful, Marik did not know, but he hoped that she wouldn't be dropping a hailstorm of brimstone on his head. Still, he had one advantage on his side, the Sorceror thought grimly. She didn't know he was coming, and if there was something that Marik could do that most Sorcerors could not, it was move without making much noise, so long as he was careful. And he was always careful.

* * *

><p>Inside, Piella Xan'Khul continued to skim her pale fingers over her spellbook, idly preparing a fireball spell for the night's raid. Or at least, that was how it seemed. Morris had been invisible as well, but when he was flapping his wings like that, he was nowhere near as quiet as the little imp had hoped. That quick warning had allowed Piella to cast a spell she had prepared prior, which allowed her to see through invisibility. While the imp had disappeared, her casual glances up and out of her tent's entrance finally reached fruition. To anyone's look, she was just making sure the rest of her force was preparing as well.<p>

Goblins and their kin were ferocious little monsters, true enough, but a few medium strength dweomers was all it took to bring them in line and cowering. She had been working with this band for a while now, and that longstanding allegiance helped as well. At least they could follow directions, and from the sounds and sights of it, they were nearly ready.

When she raised her head again to look out the tent flap, she moved it slowly and without any sign of tension or worry. She was rewarded by the sight of a towering figure in black robes and a cloak moving towards her, outlined with a flashing aura that indicated his invisible state. Piella stared off to the side of him, using her peripheral vision to examine him. The ploy worked, and he continued on towards her, unaware that his plan was already foiled.

She turned back to her book, no longer trying to prepare any more spells. There wasn't the time for it, but she'd already finished more than a handful.

_You think you're so clever, don't you, little mage? _Piella thought to herself as she used her hidden hand to prepare the motions for her first spell. _Not clever enough._

Marik was just at the entrance to her tent and preparing to strike at her swiftly when she whirled about and screamed the final arcane syllables. The formula complete, a mass of brilliant blue energy formed into the shape of a ball and snapped forward. It struck Marik dead-on in the chest, ending his spell of invisibility as it flung him out into the center pavilion of their camp.

He landed with a grunt, wincing as his already bruised ribs screamed at him again. _**Morris, she saw me coming!**_

The imp was silent for a moment, then spoke up again. _You want my advice, boss?_

_**I'd rather have your help!**_

No longer invisible, Marik pulled himself to his feet and looked about, feeling slightly sluggish. _**Blast it…**_ He used his Sorceror's hand to pull out the first vial of healing potion Rachel had given him and drained it quickly, all too aware of the amassing goblins who could now see him.

The female wizard stepped out of her tent, a glint in her burning red eyes as she pushed back a loose strand of her white hair that had escaped the tightly wrapped bun behind her head. It was clear by her appearance that dark magics had taken their toll on her; her shock-white hair, inhuman eyes, and pale skin screamed of sacrifices taken for evil rituals. Marik restrained a growl of frustration as she set a hand to her hip and looked at him in disdain. _"Stupid spellshapers like you deserve to perish. You weaken our breed." _She announced, a tremor in her voice shaking the air.

Marik held his right arm down at his side, snapping his springloaded longsword out while he began to charge one of his few remaining spells in his covered left hand.

_**Anytime now, Morris…**_

_Oh, stop complaining. We're coming in fast!_ Came the urgent reply.

While the goblinfolk in the camp began to surround Marik, Rachel, Ness and Morris charged in. With a scream and a quick slash of his fiery sword, Brightflame, Ness cut one unlucky red goblin in two as they continued on. Rachel's aura was already up and glowing, and everyone that caught sight of her either stared blankly or turned away, unwilling to harm her. Unfortunately, once they reached Marik, Ness realized why they hadn't rushed out at them. They'd encircled them, giving no way out, and countless swords, halberds and clubs in all directions meaning to end their lives.

The warped mage flung her hand out and chanted a few syllables, and Morris suddenly reappeared beside them, his invisibility dispelled.

Ness held Brightflame at the ready, gritting his teeth as he examined the odds against them. Glowing inside of her protective aura, Rachel readied her crossbow and hoped her friends would not die so quickly that she could not help them. Marik held fast to his pose, seeing the gloating dark wizard out of the corner of his eye and hoping she did not have many more surprises.

"We're gonna die here." Morris spoke up, the only one looking truly frightened out of all of them. "Boss, we're gonna die!"

Marik rolled his eyes inside of his hood. _**You know, I get tired of hearing you say that.**_

_I'm supposed to be your conscience, remember?!_

Unaware of their telepathic exchange, Ness gave a shake of his wild brown hair. "Morris, would you just shut up and do your job?"

The imp threw him a glare. "And just what would that be?"

Rachel made the first move, seeing that there were still a few members of the camp which had not amassed around them. One green goblin came in towards them, brandishing a shortspear, and she fired her loaded crossbow. The quarrel hit it in the center of its forehead and dropped it dead on its back. Not waiting as she felt her protective aura fall away from her, the healer grimaced and reached for another one of her crossbow bolts. The quiver hanging off of her hip was starting to become empty. "Do you need to ask?" She snapped.

The female wizard lifted her hands up in the air. "Kill _them all_!" She roared, and the beasts lunged forward.

Ness focused in on a group of three greens and two of their larger red cousins rushing in towards them. Gripping Brightflame a little tighter, he grinned a little. "I thought she'd never ask."

Marik summoned another ball of flames and launched it in the direction of a pair of lumbering brown hoping to bash them senseless. Conjuring his Sorceror's hand again, he felt the sudden sting of five magical bolts trying to drill into him.

It only hurt for a moment, though. The feeling passed quickly from him, and the puzzled Sorceror turned about to see the albino woman looking at him in surprise. That surprise only went for a moment before she scowled and began to cast another spell, summoning the same blue sphere which had managed to hit him. "Resist _this_, then!" She uttered darkly, firing it towards him.

_**So much for small breaks.**_ Marik thought to Morris, leaping out of the way just as the unstoppable blast of force hurtled past him.

Lurching to the side, Marik tracked the blast and watched it crash into the thick chest of one of the two browns which had survived his fiery sphere's attack. The beast went flying backwards, crushing an unlucky green goblin underneath him. None too smugly, Marik looked back to the now infuriated woman and gave his hooded head a slow and chastising shake back and forth.

Ness sliced through his third green and turned to the red trying to shear his head off. "Marik, deal with that witch already!" Rachel fired another bolt from her crossbow soon after, working in synch with the fast-stabbing Morris to bring the midsized creatures down. "We can handle them!"

Ignoring the blow from a shortsword that crashed against his chainmail covered arm, Ness turned about and slashed at another brown trying to get too close to Rachel.

Marik hesitated for a moment, worrying that if he strayed too far from Rachel, the healer would be overwhelmed by the gathering forces, even with the help of Ness and Morris. He was stuck there only until a barrage of flying red arcane darts descended on the young healer, causing her to shudder and cry out in pain. He whirled about, seeing only that infuriating dark mage, and none of the other beasts about them.

"Marik!" Ness roared, slicing across to end the brown beast's life. "_Go_!"

The Sorceror didn't need another prompt after that. Already, the woman wizard was preparing another barrage of magical bolts; the wiggling of her fingers and the red glow about her hands was unmistakable.

Marik tore towards her, and began to growl as he summoned forth the same spell. He got his off a moment before hers, throwing his own salvo into her path. Her spell finished, and the sturdy red bolts soared outwards, vanishing a quarter second later when Marik's own magical bolts counterspelled and neutralized the attack. Marik was rewarded by her infuriated stare, but he didn't have the time to gloat. Sensing a few greens approaching him, he swung his right arm out in a wild arc to keep them at bay, then channeled back into his dwindling reserves of magical strength. The green light reappeared around his hand, ending with another three concussive blasts of magical force that streaked in towards her. But just as her own darts had failed to harm him, his bolts didn't leave a mark against her, and simply snuffed out. Inside his hood, Marik's eyes flared.

_**Just like with the Shadow!**_

As Rachel, Ness, and Morris continued to struggle against a horde which was dying, but slowly, Marik stood there dumbfounded as the pale spellcaster laughed with no mirth in her voice.

"Incredible." She murmured, shaking her head. "All this trouble for an _inferior_ mage."

Before he could react, she threw out another sphere of blue light, crashing the concussive force against his chest and sending him flying through the air to fall beside his comrades.

"Marik!" Rachel cried, and a few moments later she cast another healing spell over him, lessening the spots in his eyes.

Marik stood back up, finding himself huddled in with his three allies as the surviving members of the camp closed in around them. The pale wizard gloated behind the line, knowing that Marik was no threat to her any longer.

Ness gritted his teeth as Morris hovered over his right shoulder, brandishing Brightflame in a two-handed grip.

Rachel reached for her quiver, finding it empty after the last quarrel. "I've only got one bolt left!" She exclaimed in worry.

Finding the entire affair too surreal for his tastes, Ness gave a weak laugh that his grim expression didn't match. "That's all right, my dear. There's only fifteen of them left."

Morris let out a quick chirp which seemed like a hiccough. "Four against fifteen? They don't stand a chance!" He said, so boldly it didn't seem like his usual pragmatism at work. Marik clenched his left hand inside of his sleeve and began to muster another glow of his strength.

"And whether we believe it or not," Ness murmured, looking about to all the creatures that wanted them dead, "We have to go on _hoping_!" Two greens, screaming with no regard to their lives came charging in, and Ness' fiery blade seared and cut into them.

The circle closed in, and Ness went charging out to meet them, hoping to carve a hole. Rachel was about to fire when a magical green hand pushed her crossbow down and stopped her. Confused, she looked over to Marik, who was staring towards the spellcaster with his unseen eyes.

_"Protect yourself." _The quiet mage rasped forcefully, nearly gurgling. _"They won't harm you if you do."_

"What about you?!" The healer demanded.

Marik's breathing sharpened into a gasp, and he whirled Rachel about as a pair of fiery rays shot towards her. His hand…his _real_ hand clenched on her soft shoulder for a moment as the blasts impacted against his back, but after a moment he seemed none the worse for wear. _"She can't hurt me…much." _Marik said, hoping that statement was as true as he wanted it to sound. Nodding numbly, Rachel began to chant her familiar spell, relaxing as the gentle, protective aura fell on her shoulders.

Satisfied, Marik pulled his left hand back into his sleeve and glared at the wizard. _"I have to deal with her, no matter what…"_

"Be careful." Rachel insisted, biting her lip in worry.

Marik gave a soft, wheezing laugh to that. _"Worry about Ness. I'll come back to you." _The saying was so out of character for the somber looking Sorceror that Rachel didn't know what to say to that. She didn't have the chance to say anything to that before he dashed off through the hordes, swinging wildly and using his powerful legs to leap clear over the goblinfolk's heads on his path to the enemy spellcaster.

"I'll come back to you?" She murmured to herself, still not knowing what to make of it. A grunt from Ness, and the sight of a red landing a decent nick along the side of his leg forced her back to the battle at hand, and she began to perform the only task which would not violate the intangible field that made the throngs of goblin and goblinkin ignore her; Healing.

Piella Xan'Khul expected the naïve and foolish spellcaster to turn back to her, and wasn't in the least bit dismayed when he did. He did make the mistake of leaping up into the air, which made him, as far as she was concerned, a very predictable target.

"End of the line, mage." She snarled, conjuring up the last force ball spell she'd memorized.

Marik didn't need a hawk's eyes to see what was coming his way; she made no secret to hide the intricate motions of her hand that were associated with the one spell she had thrown at him which always seemed able to hit him. Unfortunately for her, he had no intention of being hit with the same thing a _third_ time.

_**Let's see how well you can aim when you're distracted!**_

His green hand, his favorite cantrip and most innate skill swung effortlessly towards her, scooping up a handful of dirt as it soared on. Just as she was readying to aim it, the hand came up and threw the dusty soil into her face, temporarily blinding her.

She grimaced, and the spell failed as she lost her concentration. Marik landed and kept going towards her, shaking his head. _**Crude, but effective.**_

She wasn't entirely without defenses, he soon realized. Even as she rubbed at her eyes with one hand, the other went into her robes and pulled out a crossbow which shared a striking resemblance with Rachel's. She fired blindly, but with Marik charging towards her like a buffalo, she could track him by sound alone.

His charge slowed when the dark crossbow bolt slammed home and pierced through his robes and mythril chain shirt. Quizzically, he stood there and drew it out as the woman finished clearing her eyes of dirt and glowered at him.

_"Enjoy your last moments of movement." _She goaded him, drawing out an ornate dagger and beginning to walk towards him.

Marik could feel something beginning to burn through his veins, and he realized that the arrow had been coated with some kind of poison. Not just any poison, though.

_**Paralyzing venom…**_ He announced, just as his left hand began to freeze up. His ankles went weak and gave out on him, and by a miracle he was able to land on his knees, still teetering somewhat upright.

The pale-skinned wizard came closer to him, and raised her dagger above her head. She said nothing else, for Marik was undeserving of any sort of congratulations. The faceless Sorceror had been a minor nuisance at best to her, and that nuisance ended here.

Gritting his teeth, Marik focused on the poison seething through his veins…Stretching his will beyond its grasp. His right arm came up with a jerk, bringing the silvered longsword to bear. Dumbstruck, Piella froze in her downstroke.

Marik didn't hesitate, though. He drove his blade through her abdomen in one smooth motion, and she cried out in pain. His blade still inside her, her lifeblood seeping into her red robes and into the ground around her, Piella slumped to her knees, unable to stop her head from drifting towards him.

She landed against his shoulder, wondering where it had all gone wrong. And then Marik spoke to her, his voice rasping on her ear.

_"You forgot, cursed wizard…My friend has paralyzing venom as well. And he's stung me in the past."_

Something in that, perhaps the sound of his voice or what his words implied made the dying dark wizard force herself away from him, staring in horror and sudden recognition.

"You're…You're a…"

Marik drew his blade back out, cutting the sentences' end out of her before she could utter it. Choking, she collapsed backwards to the ground and died, Marik's true identity realized too late to do her any good.

Even with his familiarity to the poison, it took Marik a while to shake off its effects. By then, a stray brown had come over and picked him up by his midsection in both hands, trying to squeeze the life out of him. Marik grunted, feeling flesh and muscle give way, and even his bones beginning to bend under the tremendous pressure of the brutes' raw power. Reacting quickly, Marik conjured another sphere of fire smashed down on his skull and roasted his face off. The goblinoid dropped Marik and swatted at his charring face, screaming in pain. It did him little good; ten seconds of the intense magical flames was all he could take before he collapsed, having no recognizable head at all.

His head swimming, his muscles still spasming from the aftereffects of the venom in the albino's crossbow bolt, Marik decided that lying there on the ground was an awfully good plan. The less than observant goblins took one look at his prone form and thought him dead, moving on to the still very active target of Ness Benson.

_**I don't need to move, anyways…**_ Marik said, wincing from his tender ribs. _**By the Traveler…I **_really _**hate being knocked around like that.**_

Moving his sluggish left hand as carefully as he could manage, Marik summoned forth the last fireball his exhausted magical stores could muster. It dropped on the ground in front of him and rushed off to ride up the leg and torso of another unsuspecting bugbear. The thing shrieked and howled and swung about, but collapsed soon after. A gentle nudge from his Sorceror's hand tossed the still active sphere towards a pack of red goblins trying to blindside Ness, sending them scattering in all directions.

No, Marik thought, he didn't need to move at all. Morris, off in the distance, took one look at him and sent a mental chuckle.

_Look on the bright side, boss. At least you aren't bleeding to death this time._

_**Come over here and say that, you little…**_

Another red goblin brushed past Rachel, utterly ignoring her as it went charging towards Ness. Shaking her head, she threw her third healing spell on Ness. The glittering motes of white and blue energy sealed up the nicks and gashes covering his legs and face and gave him back his vigor, but the swordsman had yet to take a serious blow.

Safe inside her protective aura, she folded her arms against her chest and watched. She admitted that it was a little disconcerting to be surrounded by all these brutes, but to also know that not a one of them was ever going to harm her.

"Hold on, Ness…" Rachel murmured, seeing the five of the last seven raiders in the camp surround him. Morris was still flying at his side, swordsman and winged devil working together to bring them down. Idly, the healer wondered how Marik was doing. She hadn't seen any more spells flying to strike at her or Ness, so chances were good that Marik was keeping that pale wizard occupied.

A quick glance around the dwindling battlefield revealed the woman in question lying motionless. Dead, from the looks of her.

Not far from her, Marik was also slumped to the ground, not moving at all beside the corpse of another brown goblin. Gasping, Rachel ran over towards him.

"Marik!" She cried out, loud enough that Ness and Morris could hear. The swordsman's moment of distraction allowed a red to swing in his rusty scimitar at his side, cutting through his shirt and scraping against the chain mail underneath.

"Take it easy, chief. Marik's fine!" Morris encouraged Ness. "Worry about these guys!" He added, stabbing Ness's attacker in the shoulder for good measure with his poisonous tail.

Rachel dropped down beside Marik, her trembling hands reaching down to him. "Marik? Please, say something!"

The Sorceror did not move from his sprawled position, but a few moments later, he did speak, gasping as he drew in a painful breath. _"I'm not…dead…" _He reassured the healer.

Rachel's concern began to fade. "Don't do that to me. Don't make me worry about you!" She added with irritation.

_"I didn't say I wasn't hurting…" _Marik added, a little surprised at her.

Rachel cast one of her last healing spells on him, and the Sorceror began to sir.

"Just what happened?" She asked, when he seemed more cognizant.

Marik sat up on his left elbow and gave his head a shake. _"She used a poisonous dart on me."_ He followed with a watery gurgle. _"Too bad for her I built up a resistance to Morris' venom. It didn't work as well as she had hoped."_ He glanced over at Ness and nodded. _"It seems that 'The Cursed Blade' is doing well for himself." _

"It's good to see him like this." Rachel nodded, resting a hand on Marik's shoulder. "I didn't like seeing him so somber."

_"He was too much like me." _Marik agreed. Rachel looked down at the mage with a curious smile.

"What do you mean? You're not a defeatist, Marik."

_"…Not for a while." _The Sorceror agreed, finding that her glowing eyes blasted away any lingering doubts in his mind.

A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to level his left hand quickly, jerking it out of his sleeve. Green light seeped out from his fingers, then shot off in three bolts, striking down the two green goblins which had thought to ambush them while Marik lay there, still recovering.

Rachel looked back at him in surprise, and Marik retracted his slender, deformed and discolored hand back into his robes.

_"You have to be careful about goblins." _Marik noted, and Rachel found herself laughing at the comment. It felt good to laugh.

"You go low, I'm going high!" Morris squawked, dancing away from the stab of another shortspear. Ness grinned at the comment and swung Brightflame about in a wide arc, forcing the last three greens and two reds to backpedal from the dangerous blade.

"Stinger ahoy!" Morris howled, snapping his tail down and injecting another dose of paralyzing venom into the ear of the nearest red. The beast grunted and slapped at Morris, managing a decent enough hit to send the devil spiraling out of control for a few moments. It was enough of a distraction for Ness to come in with a brutal slash into the beast's torso, dropping it down. Brightflame seemed to burn a little bit hotter just then, and with a roar, Ness tore into a nearby green. It managed only one cry before Ness ended its life, then turned to the next…and the next…

The last foe in the cluster surrounding him had his head nearly severed clean off before he hit the ground, and only then did the fire surrounding Brightflame's long blade extinguish, leaving the length of tempered steel to glimmer with its own inner light.

Ness' eyes darted around, looking for anything else which would dare to rise up against him. Nothing moved, save for a slightly bruised Morris, and Marik and Rachel. The girl was leaning beside the mage, and beaming at Ness with a look of triumph.

"By the Dark Lady's mysteries…" Ness began, realizing what they had done.

Morris Redtail landed on his shoulder and gave the swordsman one of his cockiest grins ever. "Yeah, I don't believe it either."

"We did it." Ness breathed. "We did it!"

Slowly, Marik pulled himself back up to his feet and gave a nod of his head. Ness nodded back, but he found himself staring with more adoration to the girl still hanging on to Marik's sleeved arm, holding him up.

In her laughing smile, Ness' heart found release.

_You are not the Cursed Blade…Not if you believe in us!_

"I'm beginning to think we might be able to pull this off." Ness murmured to the imp on his shoulder.

"Of course we will!" Morris lambasted him. "Was there ever any doubt?"

Ness recalled that only minutes before, the imp had suggested they were all going to die. He finally laughed, and felt the somber cloud over his heart shattering apart.

It felt good to laugh.

* * *

><p>Denvale had waited anxiously the entire night, and its citizens all breathed easy as the full reach of daylight showed their town was still standing. Milon Friss took one last walk around the southern perimeter of the settlement, rubbing a ring on his finger. Outside of a brief skirmish he'd had with a small raiding band of two greens, three reds, and a brown, it had been a quiet night. Such odds no longer left him worried, though; protected by a steelskin enchantment, he'd calmly weaved through with impunity while blasting them with rays of fire and bolts of lightning. It may have been a little excessive, but while he may have been indifferent most of the time, he wasn't one to pull a punch.<p>

Satisfied, he walked back onto Denvale's main street and entered the lodge. Mayor Elise Sartis was standing behind the counter, anxiously awaiting news of Ness and his band. "Well, are they here yet?" She demanded.

Milon let out a harrumph and rolled his eyes. "Patience, woman. Patience."

She slammed down the glass she had been cleaning and shook her head at him. "How can you be so calm, when we don't know what's happened to them?!"

"Simple." Milon said, taking a seat at the counter and picking up his abandoned glass of honeywine. "I don't care."

She glowered at him, and the wizard lifted his glass in a silent toast. Taking an appreciative sip, he continued. "Besides, my dear lady, I do know what happened to them."

With strength the mage hadn't thought possible, she reached across the bar and pulled the wiry man up by the front of his robes. He yelped a little, somehow managing not to spill his drink. "Then _tell_ me." She hissed, fast tiring of the game.

Smoothing out the wrinkles as she set him down, Milon exhaled. "Ask them yourself." He muttered, and pointed to the door. Surprised, she turned her head to look. At that very moment, a triumphant Ness Benson came through the lodge's doorway, with his companions falling in step behind him.

"You won't have to worry about those goblins anymore, Mayor." Ness announced, beaming. "We met them, and stopped them."

"Almost all of them, you mean." Milon spoke up, giving them all a polite nod. "A small skirmishing party decided to head north anyhow, but I dealt with them. It was probably one of their loose patrols." He thought for a moment, then cleared his throat. "It occurs to me, Mr. Benson, there is still the small matter of payment for services rendered to you yesterday."

Almost as if he had anticipated the question, Marik's conjured Sorceror's hand flew over a thick spellbook; the one they had taken from the tent of the pale-skinned wizard Marik had fought against. Marik dropped it on the counter beside him, and the clever little imp spoke up.

"We took that from the leader of the band following you…a user of the dark arts by the name of Piella Xan'Khul, according to the insert."

Milon couldn't help smiling at the pleasant surprise, and traced two fingers across its surface. "Well, now…A valuable trophy indeed. And a dark wizard? I wonder what manner of arcane secrets she developed in the course of her unnaturally altered life." He stopped his musing and stood up, looking to them all. "Consider your debt paid, Mr. Benson. As for you, though, Marik…"

The Sorceror stirred inside of his hood, turning to affix the man with an expressionless gaze. Milon smiled at him, as a wolf might to a sheep. "…I think there's something I can do for you." Ness nodded, for he had remembered to tell the Sorceror that there was something Milon wanted to give him.

* * *

><p>Two minutes later, Ness, Rachel and Morris stood beside Mayor Sartis out on the open street of Denvale, watching curiously as Marik and Milon stood twenty paces apart, staring at each other.<p>

Marik threw a cautious glance to his friends, and Ness gave him an apologetic shrug.

"Up until now, you've meandered about with a few spells on hand. Likely in your struggle last night, you learned the danger of facing an opponent who has a wider variety of options to choose from."

Morris flew over beside Milon, voicing Marik's thoughts. "She wasn't easy. I was able to counterspell one of her attacks, but the others…"

"Precisely my point." Milon continued, interrupting the imp. He pointed a finger towards Marik. "Last night, you might have enjoyed having the ability to stop a few more of her attacks, but you couldn't." To this, he put his mirthful expression back on. "So tell me, Mr. Observant, how would you like to learn how to stop that from happening again?"

Marik mulled over it in his mind, coming to one simple conclusion. "You're talking about dispelling, aren't you?" Morris queried.

Milon grinned. "Aah, the youth can learn. Yes, that's precisely what I'm talking about. Do you know how to yet?"

Marik shook his head. "I wasn't strong enough to learn how to before."

"You might be now." Milon straightened his gray robe. "Tell me, Mr. Observant, is it true what they say about your kind?" Marik seemed to freeze for a moment before Milon added, "Sorcerors. Is it true that you learn more by example and…an innate talent?" Slowly, Marik nodded. Rodian loved to tell him the story of when he'd first used magic, at the age of four to blind half of a classroom. "Good." Milon said, harrumphing. "This will make it easier then. I don't have the time to show you the precise arcane formula and all that rot, so just pay careful attention to what I do." He pointed to Marik. "Can you cast an enchantment on yourself?"

Marik thought for a moment, then growled and forged an intangible green field about his body.

"Aah, good." Milon noted musingly, rubbing at his chin. "Simple enough. It will do for our purposes." He nodded to Marik. "Are you ready, Sorceror? Watch carefully, I don't want to have to do this more than twice."

Marik braced himself, holding his arms at his sides. Inside of the darkness of his hood, he watched the wizard priest of Margrave; how he held himself, what his hands did, and how he moved.

Words, Marik didn't need to make his magic work.

Milon began a short string of syllables, completing the long formula of the spell while his right hand weaved in an intricate pattern. When he finished the last syllable, he swung his hand out in front of him in a wave, and a shimmering field, like heat over desert sand, rushed out towards Marik.

It hit, and the Sorceror could feel his protective aura beginning to weaken and fluctuate under the assault. It gave out with a noiseless sigh, and the shimmering green field vanished.

Marik stood there for a few moments, trying to place what exactly had happened. Something seemed to click in the back of his mind, as he recalled how Milon had waved his hands about.

_Like washing away dirt from a window…_

And just as fast as that, his moment of insight solidified into a definite pattern in the back of his mind. Marik found himself nodding, enthused with it.

Milon tilted his head to the side. "You think you have it down already?" Marik nodded again, definite. Milon tsked for a bit, but brought a similar green light to rest about his form as well. "All right then, Mr. Observant. Show me what you have learned."

Marik wasted no time. Growling in a mockery of Milon's more precise arcane speech, his left hand clenched and unclenched rapidly as though squeezing a ball of dough into shape, finally ending with a backhanded wave out in front of him.

The shimmering field of air went out and away, wrapping itself around Milon Friss' intangible spell. Again the magic struggled, but Marik's dispel won out, and the force aura flashed defiantly one last time before disappearing. Rachel clapped and laughed at the sight, and Morris guffawed. "Attaboy, boss!"

Milon seemed unperturbed, still smiling in his own superior fashion. "So the old stories about Sorcerors were true. You learned that faster than I thought you would." He paused, then let his hands go to work again. "But now for a real test, Marik. Can you stop a spell meant to claim your _life?!_"

Nearly too late, Marik noticed that Milon was preparing to launch a lightning bolt towards him. Not willing to risk the chance that his natural resistances would prevent it from blasting him into oblivion, he slipped back in to the silent dance of his spellcasting.

The electrical force crackled in Milon's hands, and the wizard roared as he flung it out towards Marik. In the same moment, Marik unleashed another wave of dispelling force. The lightning crashed against the shimmering haze, fought angrily against it…And disappeared.

"Mr. Friss!" Ness exclaimed in alarm. "Was that really necessary?! You could have killed him!"

"And the next time that some other mage, like the unfortunate thaumaturgist from your battle decides to hurl something at him, they will mean to kill him as well." Milon retorted, folding his arms with satisfaction. "I had to know that Marik could cast it when his life was on the line…" He paused and glanced back to Ness and Rachel, "…Or when one of his friend's lives were."

"You really are uncaring." Mayor Sartis grunted.

"But he is wise." Morris said, blinking after he'd said it. "Boss! What the Hell…How can you say that?"

Milon heard it and gave a smile towards Marik, and the Sorceror gave him a brief wave with his magical hand. "Because it's the truth, and Marik has wisdom as well." The wizard gave a shrug of his shoulders and hefted his traveling backpack, complete with the recovered spellbook, over his shoulder. "There are many miles ahead of me yet. I need to get this crystal back to the Mandrake Shores. It was once the foundation for the Staff of Siryn, a relic whose purpose even the oldest writings do not cover. Only at home, in the sanctum of my fellows, can we hope to fully unravel its secrets."

He clapped his hands in front of him, then raised his right one, palm facing outward in blessing. "What you have done to save the crystal…and coincidentally, this town…will not be forgotten by Margrave the Indifferent."

"Take care of yourself." Morris announced, in the same dull tone that meant it was Marik speaking.

Milon nodded to him. "And you keep yourself alive, Sorceror. We'll be watching you."

That was the end of the goodbyes, for in a flash of light and shimmers, Milon disappeared in a beam of white light, teleporting off for places unknown.

"He was a strange man." Rachel commented, twirling and untwirling her scarf about her arm.

"But he was a good man, as much as he tried not to let on." Ness observed, and Marik nodded in agreement.

"I'm still going to stab him in the hindquarters the next time we meet." Morris grumbled.

Marik calmly strolled back to his friends, and Ness yawned. "Well, I suppose we should continue on our own path. Istus…and the Grey Shadow…still awaits us."

"So soon?" Mayor Sartis said, a little disappointed. "At least let me give you all a decent meal before you go off. It's the least I can do for Denvale's rescuers."

Rachel set a hand on Ness' arm before the swordsman could voice a complaint. "I'm sure one meal couldn't hurt. Right, Ness?"

Ness had meant to say that they had to continue on, that the road wasn't getting any shorter. As always, though, the desires of his new comrades, his friends, took precedence.

"I suppose not." The Cursed Blade finally said, giving the young healer a wink. "After all…It is the right thing to do."

Mayor Sartis led them back into her lodge, and gave them a sumptuous and hearty dinner. The road was still there.

It would be there two hours from now.

* * *

><p><em><strong>I'm telling you, Morris, you just have to start having more faith in people. Milon wasn't so bad, he was just gruff on the exterior.<strong>_

_He was a jerk!_

_**…True, but he meant well.**_

_He was still a jerk, boss._

The two friends were strolling along the highway leading west into Istus, a fair distance ahead of Ness and Rachel as they'd opted to take point. The focus of their conversation, unsurprisingly, was people, trust, and moods; A topic which the two always reverted to.

_**Nonetheless, he taught me how to dispel other magics. That speaks to his character.**_

_Feh! Think whatever you want, I give up. _Morris exclaimed in exasperation, throwing up his arms as well. _All in all, I'm just glad we walked out of that alive._

_**True. Not even Ness' reputation seems to be capable of ruining us. **_

_Yeah, that Cursed Blade thing? _Morris questioned. _Hogwash, if you ask me. We make our own lives, our own destiny. You and I are proving that every day we breathe. _

_**All it took was a little faith.**_

_ That and one damned good healer. I tell you, boss, it's a good thing Rachel's around._

_**Yes…she does much to lighten the mood. And my heart. **_Marik nodded, smiling as they went.

The imp easily noticed the change in Marik when the Sorceror said that. _I still can't believe that you let her see your hand. _

_**At the time, I really didn't have a choice in the matter, you know. **_Marik reminded him. _**And it was worth it. She didn't panic, Morris. She didn't run, or see me as a monster. She accepted it.**_

_So she's naïve. Terrific. _Morris shot back, rolling his eyes. _Count your blessings and move on._

Marik shook his head at that. _**It's…It's more than that, Morris. She genuinely cares for me. And I…**_

He froze, feeling Morris' beady eyes burn into him.

"Don't say that." Morris growled, stunned by the very notion of it. "_Crackers_, don't you say that."

_"I care for her." _Marik announced in his rasping wheeze, defying Morris' order. The imp scowled, and his tail swished behind him.

"Wonderful. Just frigging wonderful. Marik, don't make me be the logical one here. That's supposed to be your job!"

_**And you're telling me that it isn't logical? **_Marik asked. _**We're going into Istus. We're going to be facing the Grey Shadow soon enough, and probably a few more things along the way. I **__trust__** her, Morris. She cares about me, and I care for her.**_

"Trust is fine!" Morris exploded, shaking his head. "All I'm saying, even though I know you're not going to listen, is that there isn't anything beyond it! You're getting all your hopes up, and seeing things that aren't there."

Marik shook his head. _**Am I? **_

"She's a friend, Marik. An ally. That's it."

_**Is she? **_Marik wondered, and he relived the memory of when she had kissed his hand. _**I find myself thinking otherwise.**_

A quarter mile behind them, at the bottom of the hill that Marik and Morris had already crested over, Rachel and Ness walked at a casual pace. Shyly, she had let her hand fall into his, and he hadn't given her time to pull it back.

"Thank you." Ness said softly. The Calyssan looked up to him, her mirthful blue eyes glimmering.

"For what, Ness?"

"For believing in me." He answered, and came to a stop in the road. He lifted his hands up to her shoulders and looked at her square, happiness and a deeper, more overwhelming emotion in his face. "Maybe I'm not the Cursed Blade. Maybe…maybe at last I can be something else than what everyone else believes I am."

Rachel giggled at that, ever the optimist. "Ness, it doesn't matter what anyone else believes. The only thing that matters is how you see yourself."

"And how should I see myself?" Ness asked her, reaching a hand up to dance in her soft brown hair.

"Like I see you." The young woman insisted, her heart beginning to beat faster. "A man whose heart is as beautiful as his face."

All the troubles of his spirit seemingly worlds away, Ness' other hand came up and cradled her cheek, his gentle fingers causing her to shiver in anticipation. "You should see the rest of me." He whispered to her, his blue eyes dimming out as he leaned in close.

By luck, or perhaps fortune, Marik thought, he found a patch of lilacs growing at the roadside. Morris continued to harangue him as he knelt down and carefully plucked himself a bouquet, seeing no point in it.

"Boss, you know I want you to be happy. All I'm saying is, how likely is it that Rachel sees anything more in you than a Sorceror she can rely on?"

_**How likely was it that there was an imp which was not evil? Or that I would be raised and nurtured, instead of killed? She has touched me, Morris. Kissed my hand. Nobody…nobody has ever cared that much. **_

Morris exhaled. "Marik, please, for once in your life, think rationally. You were nearly dead at the time. We lived in a makeshift hospital, for crying out loud. Don't you remember all those old stories about war veterans falling in love with their caretakers? It was never what they thought it was!"

_**Morris, you're wrong. **_Marik finally said, tired of arguing, and tired of the devil's pragmatism. It was in a sense, the winged creature's worst flaw, he thought. That dismal outlook which made him question and second-guess every favor and every conversation. _**She **__does__** care for me. And I'm tired of hiding. **_

_Do you really think she would accept you? _Morris asked, feeling the argument slipping from him. _Knowing what you are? I want you to be happy, boss…but…_

_**Then **__be__** happy for me. And have some faith, for once in your life. **_The Sorceror chastised him. He stood back up, placing the gathered bouquet of flowers in the glowing green hand floating beside him. _**I'm going to take these flowers to Rachel. She's always looking for beauty…She'll love them. And then…**_

Silently, he rested his hand against the medallion hidden underneath all his robes and mythril chain. Again, he felt the Shadow's question run through him.

**Who are you?**

_"I'm Marik Observant," _He rasped, and began to walk back towards the rest of their companions with Morris flying close nearby, and the flowers trailing at his side. _"And I believe in my feelings."_

The Medallion kept silent after that. Marik came back up the hill, expecting that Rachel and Ness would not be far behind. His heart sang for the joy of the day, and joys he never thought he would be able to express.

When he saw his companions, though, all that stopped. His heart froze in his chest, and his legs became lead. Stunned and confused at first, he could see Rachel Skyler Ashbury at the bottom of the hill with Ness.

Kissing Ness. Not just any kiss…but a passionate kiss, the kind that stirred the soul.

Too hurt to speak, too injured to move, the Sorceror just stood there, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

She was kissing him…And it looked for all the world as if they were meant for each other. Morris fluttered up and hovered there, saying nothing as his own disbelief and Marik's confusion over their telepathic link grew in him.

"Oh no." Morris mumbled, shaking his head back and forth. "Marik, I'm sorry…I…"

Marik Observant closed his eyes, blocking out the sight and struggling without success against the burning sensation which made him start to tear up. _**You warned me. You warned me, Morris.**_ His thoughts were so quiet now, so deflated, that Morris felt horrible for ever being the voice of doubt in the first place.

_Boss…I…_

_**I was just too blind to see the truth. **_Marik continued, his usual composure fast failing him. _**You were right, Morris. You were right about it all.**_

_I…I'm what?_

Marik opened his eyes back up and stared at them again, not wanting to believe it. Yet it was still happening. No, he'd been wishfully hoping. He could see the adoration in how they held each other, the passion and proximity. Bitterly, he realized after the fact that even if Rachel had taken a shine to him, he could never be with her. Not like Ness could. He felt sick, and the bouquet of lilacs floating beside him carried a warm smell which made him sicker.

_**I'm just the mage. **_Marik snapped bitterly, and he threw the carefully collected lilacs to the roadside beside him. _**I'm just here for the mission. And the only person I can trust is you, Morris. **_

_ Just because she and Ness…Marik, that doesn't mean…_

_**You've said it yourself a hundred times over, Morris. Underneath all these robes, it doesn't matter what I do. No matter what, I'll always just be a monster.**_

Ness and Rachel finally pulled apart from their fiery kiss, and the girl was blushing brightly. "Wow." Ness uttered, when he could speak again.

"Wow yourself." The healer said, blushing all the harder. "That was wonderful."

"The next time we set up camp, we'll have to see where else a simple kiss can take us." Ness suggested slyly. Rachel giggled and batted playfully at his arm.

She veered her eyes away from Ness and looked up the hill, seeing Marik standing like a statue at the top, watching them. "I think we've tarried a bit too long." Rachel said, suddenly very self-conscious under the watchful gaze of their Sorceror, and the imp fluttering by his shoulder.

"True enough." Ness agreed. "There's miles left to go yet today."

Marik didn't want to look at them any longer. It hurt too much, and his heart and mind were too lost and confused to try and make much more sense out of it. He needed to get away…away from them, from the idea of them, and from the failed hopeful notions he'd held about Rachel.

He turned about, growling and casting a spell of invisibility on himself as he walked off.

_**…And nobody could ever love a monster.**_

Confused, Rachel watched as Marik turned about and disappeared into thin air as he went back over the hill again. A disoriented and deflated Morris came fluttering down towards them, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, I guess we should get going." He finally said.

Walking on, Rachel looked to the grim imp. "Is something wrong, Morris?"

The imp thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No."

"Where did Marik go?" Ness asked curiously.

"He's going on ahead." Morris advised them, and left it at that. Ness accepted the excuse at face value, and trudged on, with Rachel coming up behind them.

At the top of the hill, Morris and Ness continued on, but something caught Rachel's eye, causing her to stop and look.

She knelt down at the roadside, her gloved hand tracing a lightly scattered collection of lilac flowers. "These are beautiful." She murmured to herself, noting that they were still fresh. "But where did they come from?"

A few moments passed before she recalled that Marik had been standing at the top of the hill when he had seen her and Ness kissing. She picked one of the lilacs, then stood up and cradled it in her hand.

Turning to face the west, she realized only after the fact that Marik had picked them. Then it all made sense. Why he'd chosen to disappear, why Morris seemed so cold.

Those flowers had been meant for her.

A little saddened, and wishing that she could speak with the quiet mage in black, Rachel trudged on, keeping the lilac in her hand. It smelled sweet, even after being picked. It still smelled sweet hours later, when she finally tossed it aside and moved on.

Istus loomed closer.


	11. Ten: Land of The Free

**Chapter Ten: Land of the Free**

_Eastern Istus, Ashra_

It had been a long time since he had examined his mother's medallion closely. A treasured keepsake ever since Headmaster Williamson had given it to him when he was still a boy, Marik still could not figure it out.

At its center embedded in a platinum setting was a perfectly cut emerald that sparkled and caught the light. The emerald sat on the medallion itself, half of it a crescent moon of obsidian on the lower half and curving nearly to the top, and the rest a brilliant and lustrous gold.

On the golden half of the medallion were four runes which Marik had never been able to translate. They curved down along the upper right edge, cold and silent.

He'd finished his morning's quiet meditations, re-attuning himself to the aether reservoir in his body. Now he sat alone at the foot of the tree he'd placed his tent beside the night before. Back under the cover of a magically cleaned shirt and trousers, as well as his mythril chainshirt and cloak, he gripped his mother's medallion in the palm of his near skeletal left hand and stared into the faceted emerald.

**Who are you?**

The question echoed through him, and Marik closed his eyes. Leaning up against the tree far from the highway, he could still recall in vivid detail when the Grey Shadow had asked him that.

No, not asked…_Thought_ it to him. He'd been half-dead when it had happened, and the Shadow had caught sight of his hand. A lot of that incident was foggy, lost somewhere in the blur of adrenaline and panic, but he remembered that detail.

**Who are you?**

Marik closed his eyes and squeezed his hand about the medallion, feeling the rawhide string tied to it tangle in his fingers.

Every answer Marik thought of to that question fell short. Was he a Sorceror? Yes, but he was more than what he did. He was a traveler, but did that explain his desire to set things right? No. Was he someone the world trusted? No. Some dreams had yet to happen. Of all the possibilities, especially today, in the beginning of their journey into the heart of darkness, only one answer seemed fitting.

_ I'm just a monster. _He thought to himself, and slipped the medallion back around his neck, being careful not to disturb his long hood. Tired of the question, he pushed the whisper aside and forced it into silence.

A while later, Ness Benson approached him, with Morris sitting on the swordsman's shoulder. The two had become close since Kalen. Something in their experience in Sarine's Woods had helped to strengthen the bond, even though it was Marik that the winged devil was tied to.

"Morris said I might find you up here." Ness announced casually. "Preparing for the journey?"

In no mood to talk, Marik sent Morris a short message, giving the imp leeway in passing it along.

"The boss has to meditate to get in touch with his magic." Morris announced, getting the drift of it. "How soon are we leaving?"

"Rachel is cleaning up breakfast." Ness replied. He rubbed at his stubbled chin for a moment, watching Marik. "You didn't eat anything this morning. Are you feeling all right?"

Marik slowly stood up, towering over the well-built swordsman easily. "I'm fine." Morris said, as Marik took a more direct role in their communication. "I just wasn't hungry."

"If you're feeling ill, you should have Rachel take a look at you. She can cure sicknesses, too." Ness suggested, trying to be helpful.

The ironic thing was, Marik was a little sick, but there was no spell that could alter that. It wasn't a malady or a disease that plagued him. Marik's spirit had taken a crushing blow when he saw Ness and Rachel kissing. He'd been confused for a while, then upset and irrational for a few hours afterwards.

Now, the morning after, he'd just accepted it, as hollow as it left him feeling. They were good together, Ness and Rachel. They were both perfectly normal in every regard. She was a powerful healer in touch with her deity, and he was a capable swordsman, pledged to put an end to the Grey Shadow. All the components were there; proximity, shared experience, and mutual physical attraction.

Compared to that, Morris' opinion of matters seemed to be the right one to follow. They were allies, nothing more. This was a job, not some grand quest, and they were to be paid at the end of it. After all, that was why they had taken it in the first place. A need for money had driven the deal. Rachel Ashbury, the priestess of Calyssa Rosequeen from the distant land of The Realm, was just a very naïve and open-minded medic, gentle and tender in her care. She loved Ness, or at the very least, was beginning to grow into that love.

_**Better to stay distant, right Morris?**_ Came Marik's quiet mental quip. Morris blinked at it, but made no outward signs.

"Marik, do we need to have Rachel use one of her curative spells on you?" Ness prodded again. The hooded, faceless Sorceror in black turned the void that served for his face towards the Cursed Blade and slowly shook it back and forth.

"It will pass." Morris spoke for Marik. "I was just entertaining useless thoughts. Thoughts that the day will help to remove."

Marik Observant stepped around Ness, his haversack slung over his back and his outer belt holding the magical scroll keeper he'd obtained from Lightfell's Bluestaff Guild. In his haversack, he kept the protective magical bracer that he had won as spoils from Fenderson's Pass many long days before.

"The Grey Shadow is still ahead of us, waiting somewhere in Istus." Morris noted coolly on behalf of the Sorceror. "The sooner we get moving…the sooner we can be done with this whole mess." Unaware of the grim undertone to it, for Morris was never that good at expressing the emotions of Marik's speech, Ness gave an agreeable nod of his head and followed after the towering mage.

Rachel had finished covering the fire, and the shimmering blue cloak of resistance was flowing out behind her in a soft easterly breeze. She looked to her companions, smiling at Ness broadly. That smile weakened some when Marik walked past her, giving the girl nary a second thought.

"Beyond Istus, we have no idea where we might find the Grey Shadow." Ness noted as they took to the road. "We'll have to find a way to remedy that." As always, Morris took point, with Marik following the imp close enough that he didn't have to pay attention, or look at Rachel and Ness.

It was stupid of him, Marik knew. They were all adults, and he had no business being so bent out of shape over it all. Ness was Ness, and Rachel was Rachel. That was all, and that was good. Still, even though he knew it hurt her feelings to do it, the Sorceror could not look at her. He could not talk to her the night before…he had even refused tea. It was jealousy, and the sort of self-perpetuating sadness that could eat away at a person. Marik knew better, and in time, he would be completely detached from this all, as he should have been from the start.

Morris had been right all along. But the imp, in spite of that, kept silent…A fact Marik was eternally grateful for. He was Marik's one true friend. In time, Marik wouldn't be so dismal to be around, once he had found his center again and moved on. For the time being, though, avoidance was the best solution.

It hurt too much to look at her now.

* * *

><p><em>The Roadside Temple and Inn<em>

_North Central Korleen_

_487 N.E._

_There weren't many children at the Roadside Temple. In fact, at the moment there was but one child, and some of the Roadside Temple's inhabitants would not even qualify him as one. _

_ "It's about that…That boy of Brother Rodian's." Father Fardhaval began._

_ Sitting behind the old oaken desk which had served generations of elders before him, Headmaster Williamson rubbed at his temple, feeling a headache fast approaching…and it was only eight-thirty in the morning. "What is it now, my friend?"_

_ "He's a danger to everyone around him!" Fardhaval blustered angrily. "Surely you saw that after he kil…After the incident two months ago."_

_ Williamson leveled his calm brown eyes at the priest and rapped his fingers on the desk. "That was two months ago, brother. And Brother Rodian dealt with it. Now is there something else you need to tell me, or are you done wasting my time?"_

_ Fardhaval's face was red. "He did something today."_

_ Williamson flinched. "He didn't…hurt anyone, did he?" His concern was merited; the last time that the orphaned boy had caused trouble, he had been a wreck for days, and one of the dogs roaming the temple grounds had been killed. _

_ "In a way, he did!" Brother Fardhaval continued. "I was giving a lecture on foraging in the wild today, and Marik came in and disturbed the acolytes. The next thing I know, an explosion goes off in the room and one of my students is blinded!"_

_ Headmaster Williamson blinked at that. "…An explosion? Blinded?" He considered it a bit further, then harrumphed. "But how?"_

_ "It was a spell, Headmaster. Marik cast a spell."_

_ "Curious." Williamson murmured, standing up from his desk and walking over to the window. It was going to be a beautiful day outside, for the sun was causing the blue skies to come alive. There were only a few clouds to mar it. It was a wonderful day to travel. The Headmaster looked wistfully beyond the courtyard and the walls of Weyveliste's sanctuary to the road beyond, wishing he could be there, traveling through the majesty of Ashra instead of stuck behind this desk. Wanderlust came often and hard to the patrons of the Traveler. _

_ Marik. The youth had been trouble ever since he had been brought to their doorstep by his dying mother. Rodian had proved to be a caring, slightly inept father to the strangest boy they'd ever harbored, but there had always been a potential in the inhuman child for something dark and malevolent._

_ "There is still much we do not know about Marik." Headmaster Williamson admitted, tucking his hands behind his back and turning away from his offices' window. "But I do not see how he could cast a spell. No, he is too young to derive strength from the Traveler's will, and wizards only manage such after years of intensive study."_

_ "I know what I saw." Brother Fardhaval said stubbornly. "If you doubt me, then I will bring in my class. They can act as witnesses." _

_ Williamson shook his head. "That will not be necessary, I believe. This can be settled quietly. I have no desire to alienate the boy further."_

_ "He is a monster, Headmaster, and…"_

_ "And he stays here under the protection of this Temple, Brother Fardhaval." Williamson warned the hotheaded cleric, his brown eyes flaring briefly. "No harm will come to him, and he will not be cast aside. I told his mother when she was dying he would be safe here, that he would be given the 'life worth living' she was so obsessed with. He has a hard enough time, dealing with what he is."_

_ "Nobody of Marik's ilk ever made Terrus a better place." Fardhaval warned the Headmaster, pointing a finger at him. "Every day he stays here, he grows stronger. The last time he struck, he killed a pet. What happens when he goes after larger prey, hmm? What will you do when he 'accidentally' kills one of the acolytes, or one of the priests?"_

_ "Marik's kind is largely a mystery." Williamson reminded the man. "But I believe that he is more than his heritage, Fardhaval. He has been raised for four years under Desmond's care, and there is not a more good-natured spirit at this Temple than that man. For all that he is on the outside, a fledgling person grows inside of him, encouraged every day. I do not wish this argument, but I will tell you plainly. Marik will not kill another. He will not kill again. Rodian promised me that."_

_ "He would have promised you anything, to save that orphan." Fardhaval snorted. "Brother Rodian always obsessed too much over his attachments."_

_ Headmaster Williamson resisted the urge to strike the precocious cleric of Weyveliste. Even afterwards, he still clenched his hands into fists. "I have other things to do today, Brother Fardhaval. Now either lodge a formal complaint or leave; in either case, stop talking about Rodian and Marik in such dire terms."_

_ Fardhaval chewed on his lip. "If Marik is capable of blinding my students, he can do other things. More dangerous things. Please. Call him here, to your office. Observe Marik yourself. See what he can do. And then, I hope you will make the right decision, and revoke the protective pledge you made four years before."_

_ Headmaster Williamson did not want that pledge to fail. A man lived by his word, and Williamson's was ironclad. "I will call him to my office later today. Will that be amenable?" Fardhaval nodded, having won a minor victory. "Then leave. There is paperwork yet to complete."_

_ Brother Fardhaval bowed respectfully and left the office quickly. Williamson sighed and slipped back into his desk chair, shaking his head. "Marik casting magic? Preposterous." Still, he reminded himself, impossibilities were often shattered. Perhaps it would be so with Marik as well. Williamson opened his desk drawer, pushing back the false drawer to reveal a secret compartment within. There, hidden from open view was the medallion that Marik's mother had left in his care._

When he is old enough, give him this…And tell him his mother died…to give him a life worth living.

_ The medallion was magical…highly so. Beyond that, no amount of augury or research had revealed a thing in four years' time. It was as if the medallion simply did not exist. Marik was a curiosity, as much as his mother's last gift. The aging cleric pushed a fingertip across its surface, ignorant to its power. Perhaps the boy who was not truly human really could use magic, as ridiculous as it seemed. _

_ "So much of his kind remains a mystery." Headmaster Williamson mumbled again, looking out towards his window._

_ The beckoning road called to him, but gave no answers. That was the thing with the roads. They kept their own secrets._

* * *

><p><em>The Free Nation of Istus, Town of Road's End<em>

_503 N.E._

On the surface, the first town in Istus they happened across seemed a normal enough place.

"Istus." Ness Benson said darkly, carefully glancing about as they passed by an assembly of carts and vendors on the outskirts of the simple-looking town. "We're here at last."

"Is Istus truly dangerous?" Rachel inquired, finding the bustle of the small burg not much different from Westshire, where she had been stationed with her Calyssan missionary group before. "This place seems harmless enough."

"Appearances can be misleading." Ness replied calmly, his sharp eyes still scanning the environs. "Istus is different from all the other countries in Ashra; You can do or be whatever you like here, have anything you wish as long as you have the money."

"That sounds wonderful." Rachel said, not quite grasping why he would be so afraid of it.

"Only until you upset the wrong person, step into the wrong alley, or get captured by the slavers." Ness told her grimly, and Rachel shuddered at the last thing. "Money can buy anything here, including the silence of their watchmen."

"So in other words, be careful is what you're saying." Morris concluded, safely tucked away inside of Marik's hood.

"Essentially." Ness agreed. "We do not know where the Grey Shadow is in Istus. It will take some investigating." He threw a glance back to Marik and the hidden Imp with him. "I don't suppose you two could turn up anything here?"

The Sorceror shrugged as Morris spoke. "We could see if anyone in the local taverns knows anything."

"What is it with you and taverns, anyhow?" Rachel said to Marik, smiling. "Every time I turn around, it seems like you're taking us to another pub."

"You grew up above one, didn't you?" Morris asked, the flat tone indicating Marik's grim intervention. "You should know better than anyone that people with tales to share flock to them."

The comment came off harsh, and Marik chastised himself as soon as he'd said it. Rachel pulled away from him a bit, blinking with hurt eyes. "Well…of course I do. I was just…" She tried to defend herself, but let the answer fade away, averting her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

What Marik wanted to say to her, as they all stood there on the edge of the town called Road's End, surrounded by merchants calling out advertisements for their wares, was that nothing Rachel did could offend him, and that he was sorry for saying that, if not for being a great fool as well. But he didn't say that. After several false starts which Morris did not relay, the Sorceror shook his head and came up with a feeble answer. "I'll see what I can turn up with Morris."

Not saying anything further, Marik pushed through the bustle of the town's crowds, leaving Ness and a hurt Rachel behind him.

_You know, I think that could have gone better, boss._

_**Thank you for reminding me of the obvious.**_

_Aah, you're welcome. You know that's why I'm here, after all._ Morris snipped, slapping the side of his tail against Marik's head. _That and the company._

_**I shouldn't have said that to her.**_

_So why did you, exactly? _

The townsfolk gave the towering figure in black robes and cloak a wide berth, a little surprised and very intimidated by him. Marik paid them little attention, used to the odd glances. It was better that they looked at him in suspicion and wonder rather than horror.

_**…I don't know. **_Marik admitted, not feeling at all like himself since yesterday.

Morris, of course, could read him like a book. _So she chose Ness. It's not the end of the world, Marik. There are…_

_**Others? **_Marik interrupted bitterly. _**Morris, there IS nobody else like her.**_

Even arguing with Morris, Marik was still paying attention to his surroundings. He could see a young boy in slightly tattered clothes approach him, ordinary in the crowd. Ordinary, save for the set of picks strapped to his belt.

In the middle of the bustling market, he stumbled as if jarred from behind, bumping into Marik. He muttered a brief apology and took off running.

The Sorceror smiled to himself, turning his left sleeve about and almost casually firing a blue ray through the crowded street. With the benefit of Morris' invisible eyesight guiding the shot, he landed the stream of icy particles on the ground right where the boy set his foot down. It exploded into ice, not causing the youth any harm but tripping him up and sending him sprawling on his face.

He struggled to pick himself up, staring in surprise and astonishment at the ice encasing half of his worn shoe and sticking him to the ground.

That gave Marik the time required to calmly turn about and tower over the youth who gripped Marik's moneypurse tightly in his stubby fingers.

"Now boy, you have two options." Morris Redtail announced, safely tucked back inside of Marik's hood. "You can either hand my money back over and walk away unharmed, or you can attempt to flee. I assure you, the first option means you get to go home tonight." It was mostly an empty threat, because Marik didn't really intend to harm the boy in any regard. He had considered Marik an easy tag, and had learned the foolishness of that. Given his dress, he could have used a little extra money.

The youth gulped, his hazel eyes wide. "H…Here." He said, pushing the moneypurse towards Marik.

The Sorceror manifested his green Sorceror's hand and took his purse back, being careful to tie it more securely around his waist. "Good lad." Morris said coldly. "Now then, how would you like to earn an honest day's wages for a change?"

The scruffy thief considered that for a moment, taken aback. It wasn't every day a failed robbery resulted in him being better off than he started. "It depends, I suppose. What's honest?" He retorted, trying to act brave.

Marik considered that for a moment, then focused his will on the small patch of ice holding the scraggly youth down. It dissipated, released back into the aether that had created it. He scrambled up to his feet, preparing to bolt if anything looked wrong. That never came, of course.

"I'm new to Road's End." Morris announced, opting for the truth. "I could use a guide…specifically, somebody to show me where I can find the taverns in this place, and someone who knows how to get information."

The boy considered that for a moment, staring up at him. "It'll cost you. Four gold dragons."

"Four?" Morris retorted. "Highway robbery."

The boy shrugged noncommittally, growing brave. "Take it or leave it."

Marik loomed over him, doing his best to look menacing. The intimidation worked, and soon the boy was pale. "Or I suppose I could lower it."

"That's what I thought you said." Morris harrumphed. "Two gold pieces. That's my offer. Half now, and half when we're done."

The boy considered his options for a moment, and realized that there wasn't going to be any escaping this insightful mage. With a sigh, he nodded his head. "All right. Two gold." He wasn't all that disappointed, really. While he could have made far more by robbing the mage in black, that token sum would suffice for a while. The floating green hand pulled out a gold coin from Marik's moneypurse and dropped it in the boy's hand.

"I like to know who I'm dealing with, of course." Morris continued, speaking for Marik. "What name do you go by?"

"…Trevor." Came the muted reply. Marik sized the youth up, nodding his head. He was nine or ten years old, and wiry from exercise. It seemed he wasn't a novice to pilfering moneypurses in the crowded streets of the town. Dull hazel eyes, quieted by several hard years of life, looked out from underneath a ragged mop of messy red hair.

"Well, Trevor." Morris announced, as Marik stood upright and glanced about. "Let's get started."

"Sure. Where do you want to go?" The boy asked, wondering briefly what sort of a tour guide he would be.

"Like I said, I'm looking for information. Are there any pubs that are frequented by storytelling travelers?"

"Two or three." Trevor said, walking beside Marik as he pointed out a new direction. They began their trek, one determined to find information about the Grey Shadow, and the other determined to survive this day.

Trevor had never thought he'd be doing this when he got up today.

_Well, I'll say this, Marik. For whatever problems you have up in that head of yours, you don't let it interfere with your mission._

_**We're here to do a job. **_Marik reminded the imp in his hood gently, feeling a brief pang of remorse from the hurt expression on Rachel's face after his outburst. _**As long as I can focus on that, I'll be fine.**_

_But you can't ignore her forever, boss. _Morris pointed out. _Eventually, you'll have to just accept the decision she's made and move on. We can't exactly work with them if you won't talk to her._

_**Of course I can. **_Marik retorted, no spirit in his voice. _**After all, that's why I have you, isn't it?**_

Morris sighed at that, and didn't say anything else.

Marik was still fielding excuses.

* * *

><p>The young girl selling flowers beamed as she tucked away the silver piece and handed Rachel the lilac. "Here." She said simply, running off afterwards.<p>

Rachel gently broke off the majority of the stem and pinned it to her blue shawl, smiling gently. "There." She said, pleased with the result. She twirled about for Ness to see. "How do I look?"

"As beautiful as ever." Ness Benson smiled, folding his broad arms over his chest. "But why did you buy that flower? You're beautiful enough without it."

Tracing a gloved finger over the fragile blossom, Rachel remembered the bouquet that Marik had thrown on the ground back in Samael's Lands. "To remember." She said quietly, her smile fading as she thought of how dismal Marik had begun to become. "I hope Marik's doing all right."

"Oh, he'll be fine." Ness reassured her. "After all, he's got Morris with him. What sort of trouble could he get himself into?" Rachel gave him a pointed glance, and the swordsman scratched at his hair. "Well…I guess I see your point."

"We should buy some more ingredients as long as we're here."

"Ingredients? For what, more potions?" Ness asked, surprised. "But you just made some back in Lightfell…"

"True, and we've used a few since then." Rachel pointed out. "I have a feeling we'll need more before we're done."

Ness sighed and trailed after the girl as they continued through the florist's carts. "We'll be needing some more vials and bottles then. If it wasn't for your ability to make these on your own, we'd be spending a fortune stocking up."

"Vials are easy enough to get. We just need to find an alchemist's shop or an herbalist." Rachel added. "They should have what I'm after."

Recalling the last foul-smelling batch of ingredients he had been forced to obtain for her, Ness paled a bit. "This isn't going to stink up my clothes again, is it?"

She threw him a glance, then shook her head. "We'll need some more mint, of course…"

"Of course." Ness sighed.

"But I'm going to need some ginger root, almond extract, and citrus for what I have planned."

Ness gave her a curious look. "Citrus?"

"Lemons, Ness."

"Aah. Why? That's not the ingredient for your blue potions."

"I'm not making blue today." She inferred calmly, stopping in front of a cart full of glass bottles of all shapes and sizes. "I've got something stronger in mind."

The middle-aged man behind the stand, his face leathery with age, rubbed his hands together. "Aaah, welcome my friends! Perhaps you have come in need of a vase? Something to put that flower of yours in, eh?"

Rachel shook her head, ending his pitch. "We just need some small bottles." She shuffled around in her side satchel for a moment, then produced a vial of her green curative potion. "Like this."

The vendor blinked at it for a moment. "That looks like a vial for a potion."

"It is."

"Hm." The man said thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. "Well, I'd have to check, but I'm thinking I might have what you're after."

He ducked down behind the cart full of large and ornate bottles, then came up with a small box of square bottles, corks stuffed tightly in their openings. "You're in luck! I have a full set of twenty here."

Rachel nodded appraisingly. "How much?" She asked.

"Forty gold pieces."

Ness snorted. "Forty?! What are you, a merchant or a thief?"

The man shrugged, but Rachel seemed unfazed. Perhaps Ness' presence emboldened her. "I'll give you ten."

"Thirty." The bottle seller countered.

"Twelve."

"Twenty-five?"

"Fifteen."

"I could not go lower than twenty pieces for such a set." He argued.

Rachel feigned a yawn and shook her head. "I imagine the town's alchemist labs will be more understanding. Good day, then."

"Seventeen gold pieces!" The merchant exclaimed, feeling the sale slip from him. "That is my final offer!"

Keeping her smug expression to herself, Rachel nodded. Before she could untie her moneypurse, however, Ness had set down the amount exactly on one of the few open spots on the cart.

"It's on me." Ness reassured her, winking.

The healer frowned at him for a bit, then gave an exasperated sigh. "Ness, you're doing it again."

"I'm doing what?" Ness said as they walked away with the new vials in tow.

"You're fawning over me." She insisted, a little upset. "I have money from our travels as well. I don't need you to pay for me every time."

"Aah, but I don't give ten percent of everything I earn back to a church." Ness reminded her. "You routed a very sizable donation back to your missionary group in Westshire when we were in Lightfell, remember?"

She shook her head. "That doesn't make me poor, you know."

"You do have less to spend, though." He continued. "I'll make you a deal, Rachel. I bought the vials, so you can buy the ingredients this time around."

"Let me buy us lunch and you've won your way back into my good graces." She smiled.

The swordsman stroked at his chin for a moment, smiling at the thought. "I can live with that."

"And the next time I want to buy something, you'll…"

"Try not to make a habit of being overbearing." He finished with a smile, and his hand found its way into hers.

She squeezed it gently and looked up at him. "You're something else, Ness."

"I'm only what your faith has made me." He retorted, wishing that they were somewhere private in that moment.

The comment caught her interest, and she considered it for a few moments as they continued to look about for the other ingredients she needed. "Ness, I've noticed something about you."

"My charmingly rugged good looks?"

"No, something in your mannerisms." She told him. "I've heard you say half a dozen or more oaths since we've met, every one referencing to a different deity."

"Aah." Ness remembered, still holding her hand. "Yes, I do make a habit of that, don't I?"

"But why?" Rachel asked him. "Don't you worship one more than the others?"

"Not really, no." Ness said, unfazed by the question. "But that doesn't mean I'm not a spiritual fellow."

"How?" The Calyssan asked, confused.

"Oh, that's simple enough." He said, and spun her about into his arms. She let out a soft cry of surprise, but stopped when their blue eyes met. He gave her a soft and reassuring smile. "How could I not have faith when an angel is walking beside me?"

Rachel giggled, then bit her lip nervously. "Are all your compliments so bold?"

"I've made a habit of being so." Ness told her, and she tilted her head up towards him to meet his kiss. Ness Benson was indeed bold, Rachel thought as her head swam.

She wondered how bold he would be tonight.

* * *

><p><em>Drughvairn's Nook<em>

_Central Road's End_

They sat in a back corner of the tavern, calmly sipping away at their drinks. Marik had picked out an elvish draught for himself, and ordered some unfermented grape syrup in bubbled water for his ten-year old accomplice, Trevor. The presence of the boy had worked a small miracle for Marik and Morris, making people's glances towards the faceless figure in black linger less than they would have were he alone.

"So how do you know who to look for?" Trevor asked, feeling more comfortable around the imposing mage. He took a sip of the drink, marveling at the taste. It was more than what he was used to.

The mage, who had begrudgingly introduced himself as Marik after a few minutes of their meeting, leaned back against the wall and looked about, using his magical hand to lift up the chalice of elven wine to his hidden mouth. He took a slurping drink, then set it back down and exhaled. "The best source for obscure or unordinary information are traveling minstrels, also called bards."

Trevor set his glass aside and frowned, looking around. "How do you know when you're staring at a bard, then?"

The Sorceror considered that for a moment. "There's a few obvious signs." Morris inferred, the one who had partaken of the drink safely tucked inside Marik's drooping hood. "They tend to dress in light armor, if any. They usually carry an instrument. A lute, or a mandolin, most times. Otherwise, it's all up to how they hold themselves."

"Eh?" Trevor said, looking back to Marik. "What do you mean?"

Marik considered that for a moment as Morris chuckled.

_Boss, he's only ten years old. You're going to have to explain it in simpler terms._

_**When I was his age, I already knew how to read and speak elven.**_

_Don't let it go to your head._

"Let me try that again." Morris said with a cough. "Bards aren't like other people. They look happy. Spirited."

"Huh." Trevor muttered, taking another sip of his drink and staring around. "We get people in Road's End like that every so often. Most don't stay for long."

"Well, they are notorious for being vagabonds." Morris replied. The imp and Sorceror gave a quick scan about the tavern, finding a mark quickly enough. "Now, then. I have a little test for you."

"What's the catch?" Trevor demanded, still on edge.

"There's a bard in this tavern right now. And he may know a thing or two that would help me. If you can find him and bring him here, I'll buy you a second glass of that syrup you're enjoying." Trevor sat up a little straighter at that, looking at him.

"Are you pulling my leg?" He demanded. "I tried to rob you. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"To be honest, you don't." Morris said. "But at some point, you're going to have to learn who you can trust and who you can't. So you might as well start now." Marik waved a sleeve around the tavern. "Well, I gave you a few clues. Go ahead and try, Trevor."

Despite the incentive, the boy wavered. It was still a tavern, and there were plenty of rough-looking fellows about enjoying their drinks. "I just hope you're not going to get me killed."

"If anyone tries to roughhouse you, then they'll have to answer to me." Morris said firmly. "You're working for me, after all, Trevor. I can't have you being assaulted in my presence."

"Huh." The boy muttered, shaking his head in wonder at the faceless mage. "You're different, you know that?"

_**Every day of my life.**_ Marik thought, and Morris chuckled aloud. "Go on. Take a look around."

The boy leaned on an elbow, staring about with a squinting determination.

It was about a minute later when he looked back to Marik. "Is he the one in the studded leather vest and the funny ears?"

Marik nodded his head, pleased at the boy's attempt. The man carried a longsword at his hip, and beyond the leather vest in question, dressed in fine linens and weathered boots. There was something else, as well. Underneath his neatly trimmed brown hair, he had slightly elongated, pointed ears; No elf would mistake him for one of theirs, and no human would think of him as a true kinsman. He was trapped in a world between.

"You were paying attention." Morris said, pleased. Underneath the table, the Sorceror pulled out another gold coin, then flipped it up on the table. "Go and buy yourself another syrup, then bring that bard over here to us."

The boy snatched up the coin eagerly, pausing just as he was beginning to stand up. He affixed a curious glance towards the hooded mage. "Us?" He said, confused.

"I…Well, I was including you when I said that." Morris hastily corrected himself. The boy looked skeptical, but turned about and headed up to the bar.

Marik leaned back in his seat. _**He's sharp for his age.**_

_ We nearly blew our cover. We'll have to be more careful, boss. Something tells me that Trevor wouldn't exactly understand about us._

_**As long as you keep doing all the talking, I doubt he's going to run off screaming. **_

_You know boss, I've got a question._

_**What would that be, Morris?**_

_You're kind of sweet on Trevor. Any reason why?_

Marik considered that for a moment. _**I really don't know. Just a feeling, I guess.**_

Trevor came back to the table, dragging the half-elven troubadour behind him. "I brought him for ya."

Marik sized the youth up for a moment. "You don't have another syrup."

The scruffy-haired boy smirked a bit, one hand in his trouser pocket. "I thought I'd save ahead for a rainy day."

Morris let out a little mirthful laugh. "I suppose there's no shame in that." Came the reply, along with a casual wave of Marik's right sleeve. The mage turned his faceless black hood up to the retrieved contact.

The bard sized up the towering figure who seemed an incarnation of the reaper. "Your boy said you wanted to speak to me, but I don't normally associate with men who hide behind shadows."

Marik nearly cackled at that, but restrained himself and sent his thoughts to Morris. This he did not in the human tongue, but in the language of the elves. Because of that, when Morris spoke, it was in the same dialect.

_"Not everyone who hides behind shadows is uncultured, friend."_

The minstrel's eyes widened at that. "Well, now." Came his reply, in the same language, "You know of my other heritage?"

_"You are versed in tales and rumor. It is the rumor I require, if you would be willing to aid in my search."_

"Do you seek something?"

_"Someone." _Morris said softly, the graceful, almost lyrical syllables gliding off of his devilish tongue with a strange and unnatural, yet pleasant feeling. _"An assassin who works alone. The Grey Shadow."_

The bard's face darkened, but he kept his voice level. "Nobody has ever lived a long life who went after him. Are you trying to bring about your death?"

_"So you do know of him." _Morris inferred, pleased. _"His trail ends in Istus. Beyond this point, I do not know where he has gone. If you know something, anything, tell me."_

The leather-vested minstrel shook his head, reverting to the basic terran language. "I cannot. He has enemies in Istus, to be sure, but all who have ever become involved in his business died. I apologize, friend of my ancestors, but I cannot assist you."

The faceless mage considered that for several moments, then shook his head. "My thanks for your time then, minstrel. May the Traveler keep watch over you."

"And may he walk with you as well." The still pale-faced half-elf said, then he turned about and strolled stiffly out of the tavern.

Marik leaned back in his chair, and Morris let out a long sigh. The sharp-eyed Trevor considered things for a moment, then clicked his tongue. "You didn't get what you needed, huh?"

"Oh, I got something out of that." The talkative imp said, still acting as Marik's voice, cramped within his hood. "He told me that there are others in this country who hate the Shadow as much as I do. Just because he proved to be a dead end does not mean others will not have the answers I need."

Trevor considered it for a moment, finally sighing. "It's too confusing for me."

Marik angled his hood towards the boy. "Trevor, I apologize for the inconvenience I've been to you. I don't think there's any more you can do to help me; I still remember all the taverns you told me to visit."

The scruffy red-haired boy tilted his head. "Wh…what are you saying?"

"I don't need your assistance any longer." Marik explained to the boy, flipping up another few gold coins onto the table. "You are free to return to your usual tasks. Just don't make the mistake of trying to pick my pocket again, the next time we meet."

Trevor hurriedly tucked the valuable coins away into his pants pocket, then turned his glittering eyes to glower at Marik. "I have always been free."

Excited with the prospect of the rest of his day, the boy shot out of the tavern like a streak of lightning. Marik sat there, looking down at his drink for a few more moments before standing up.

_You're not going to finish that?_

_**As I recall, Morris, you were the one drinking that.**_

_I know! You're not going to let me finish that?_

_**I still have need of your keen senses. **_Marik retorted, moving them out of the tavern and into the open streets. _**Come, Morris. We've other places to visit in search of what we want to know.**_

_And what about Trevor?_ Morris queried, a little surprised. Marik glanced about the street as they emerged, but saw the boy nowhere in sight.

The grim Sorceror shrugged his shoulders. _**He is free to do whatever he wishes.**_

_Then I guess what they say about Istus is true. You really are free to do whatever you want._

_**Until somebody else steps in.**_ Marik corrected him, and took off walking.

* * *

><p>"Well, let's see. A gross of crossbow quarrels, then. Is there anything else you'll be needing, miss?" The merchant asked. Rachel thought about it for a few moments, then shook her head.<p>

"That should do for now." She answered, sliding across the agreed amount. He set the thick box of crossbow ammunition up on the counter and gave a nod of his head.

"A pleasure doing business with you. Come back anytime."

Rachel walked back towards Ness, who stood in the middle of the street with that quaint little smile of his. "And what's so funny, Ness?"

"Oh, nothing." He said casually. "Is there anything else we need to pick up before we'll go looking for Marik and Morris?"

Rachel ran over the list in her head; they'd eaten, gotten another batch of supplies for her potionsmaking, and resupplied her empty crossbow quiver, which hung at her right hip along with the light weapon Ness had bought her back in Crannogh Heights. Two nations later, it had proven itself to be very effective in giving her much needed stopping power. She shook her head. "No, I think that will do for now."

"Small miracles do happen." Ness chortled, walking back for the center of Road's End. "I didn't think you'd ever run out of things to shop for."

"Ness!" She chastised him with a light slap on the arm. He laughed, knowing she meant it in just as much jest as he did. They turned away from the arms bazaar and continued on.

Ness exhaled. "You know, I'm surprised. Nobody's harassed us so far."

"Why would they?" Rachel asked, turning to him. "This place is just one giant market, isn't it?"

"Oh, it is." Ness murmured, wanting to say something else but thinking better of it. He shook his head. "We should try to find Marik, and then arrange for some lodgings for tonight." The swordsman rubbed at his chin. "Someplace more upscale, I'm thinking. Somewhere that I can wash my hair out."

Rachel's eyes glittered at the promise. "Oh, that would be wonderful. With a full bath?"

"Of course." Ness reassured her, tracing a curve along her arm. "I'd give you a palace, if I could."

"Flatterer." Rachel smirked. She looked up ahead of them and blinked, seeing a large throng of people congregating around a raised stage. "Ness, what's this?"

Ness examined the scene for a moment, his face darkening. "Nothing you need to see." Came his terse reply. "Come on. We should hurry along and…"

"Now hold on a moment." Rachel stopped him. "What is this?" She asked again, more insistently. Ness bit his lip as he looked to her, then closed his eyes in resignation.

"Look on, then." The swordsman answered. "But you will not like what you see."

The Calyssan stared at the stage fully after that, giving it her total attention. A man in linen and leather stood up in the center, waving his arms to silence the crowds.

"All right then, here's today's catch!" Came his powerful voice. A line of people, their eyes dull and their spirits defeated were paraded onto the stage, dressed in simple and mostly dirty rags. Their hands and feet were bound in iron chains that barely allowed them enough space to walk. "Bid high and you just might be able to take one of these little darlings back home with you!"

Wide-eyed, Rachel tried to piece it together. "Ness…what…"

The swordsman said nothing, and Rachel whirled on him. "He's selling those people! As…"

"Slaves." Ness finished grimly, shaking his head. "I know."

Rachel looked back to the line of people. A man in his forties. Three women, one in her middle ages, another in her early thirties, and the last one looking Rachel's age. A young boy, barely eight years old, and already with the spark of life lost from him. They were bidding on the old man, and the wagers, along with the humiliation, grew fast.

Trembling slightly, Rachel tore her eyes from the scene and looked to Ness. "Why are they doing this?"

Their mirth destroyed, the Cursed Blade tightened his free hand into a fist. "Istus is a free country, the only one of its kind in Ashra. You can buy anything, as long as you have the money. Even people."

He could see the anger begin to rise up in her face, and knew even before she could voice another comment that she meant to put a stop to it.

"You can't." Ness said softly. Rachel turned to look at him in surprise. "You can't stop this, Rachel. I can't stop it, either."

"But it's not right!" She whispered fiercely. "Surely, you can see that!"

"I know it's not right." Ness said back to her, keeping his voice level and not making eye contact with the few buyers at the back of the crowd who glanced towards them. "But to stop this, you would have to eliminate an entire piece of Istus, and it goes a lot higher than most people care to find out." Their blue eyes met and the swordsman shook his head again. "We have our own monster to fight, Rachel. That's all we can do."

"But those people…" She whispered, feeling her rage drain out of her for sadness, "Nobody cares what happens to them? Nobody ever stops it?"

"Not in Istus." Ness concluded somberly, leading her away.

Rachel closed her eyes against a fresh set of tears. "It seems there are some places in this world that Calyssa wouldn't love, after all."

Ness exhaled and led her away from the slave auction, not sure who he was more upset at; The slavers, for building a business that thrived on suffering and injustice, or himself, for being too weak to do anything about it.

* * *

><p>Sadly, all of Trevor's suggestions had produced nothing useful about the Grey Shadow. Every tavern, inn, and pub that Marik went in turned up confusion, or guarded responses about not wishing to become involved.<p>

_It's hardly the end of the world, boss. I didn't really expect this to be an easy nut to crack. Stories are one thing, but it looks like we might have to enlist some higher help to find him._

_**Scrying, you mean. **_Marik inferred. The idea didn't exactly please him, as that meant finding a powerful cleric in the region, or a mage of some strength. In either case, it would require a substantial sum of money, and more attention than Marik really wished to have.

They continued through the bustle of Road's End, watching as the traffic dwindled to the mid-afternoon rush. In the middle of it all, Morris' sharp beady eyes picked out something the more casually glancing Marik didn't. The small figure of a boy ducked and weaved through the crowd, throwing furtive glances behind him before bolting on ahead.

_Say, boss…I think I just saw that Trevor kid._

_**You did?**_ Marik replied, stirring to a more alert stance. With Morris guiding him, he quickly spotted the boy, running through the crowds and ducking into an alley.

Both the Sorceror and the imp saw what he was running from a moment later. Three men were going after him, dressed in unassuming leather coats, but looking none too casual with the swords hanging off of their hips. People got out of their way, not saying anything and doing their best to not look at them either. To Marik, the visual cues all added up to one thing; those men meant trouble, and the townsfolk of Road's End knew it.

_**They're after Trevor.**_

Marik was already moving when the imp let out a slow chuckle. _You know, boss, for someone who doesn't want much attention, you have a habit of playing the hero a lot._

_**Heroes don't associate with imps**_, came the Sorceror's quick, but forceless reply.

Trevor was running on panic and fear, and those had kept him going on his dash for nearly five minutes. Running was the only option when it came to slavers, but they kept coming, and he was running out of breath. They could manage longer strides, and every feint he'd tried had failed to leave them behind. He thought at the last, he could duck into the alley, scamper over the wooden fence that was in so many other alleys around the town and leave them in the dust just long enough to get some real distance.

When he made it through the crowds and into the alley, he found to his total dismay and grief that the alley he'd picked didn't have a wooden fence, only a dead end.

"End of the line, kid." One of his pursuers growled. Trevor turned about, his lower lip quivering. The three of them had moved into the alley and blocked off any chance of escape. "Get him, Tomas!" He barked to one of his men.

Trevor shrank against the wall, unable to do anything to stop the man from coming closer. It was just a matter of time, and then he would no longer be free.

The slaver's greasy hand never came to land on his shoulder, though. There was only the surprised grunt from the man, the slap of a hand against his neck, and a familiar voice that made Trevor open his eyes in hopeful wonder.

"Nobody is taking this boy _anywhere_!"

"What the devil is that thing?!" The man closest to Trevor exclaimed, just before he gurgled and slumped to the ground, staring through unblinking eyes. The boy looked up and gasped. Hovering in midair, beating red leathery wings and dressed in specially tailored clothes was a foot-high creature with small horns and comically large ears rising up out of its toothy skull. The little thing threw Trevor a wink.

"What _kind_ of devil would be a more accurate question. Trevor, looks like you got yourself in some trouble."

The boy looked like a fish out of water, then pointed to the man lying on the ground. "What did you do to him?!"

"I stung him." The flying creature shrugged, lashing his barbed tail out behind him. "What else would I do?"

"Blast it, that thing did something to Tomas!" One of the others shouted, drawing his dagger out.

"He won't be doing it to us, that's for sure." The other snarled, bringing out his sword.

Trevor looked up to the winged devil hovering above him. "Marik, you can't stop them!" The boy shouted.

"Two things, kid." The toothy imp said back to him, calmly ignoring the approaching men. "One, I'm not Marik…_he_ is." He pointed a claw towards the entrance to the alley, and the men stopped, looking behind them.

The towering black hooded robes and cloak of Marik Observant stood watching them all, glowing eldritch light simmering about his sleeves. "Second thing." The imp concluded smugly, "I don't have to stop them. He will."

"It's a mage!" One of the bandits cried.

"Take him down!" The other yelled, and charged on. It was all he could do before three bolts of green force slammed into him and knocked him backwards. He gnashed his teeth against the storm and tried to get up, but a green hand punched him across the face, then turned about and slammed him in the back of the head. That proved to be more pain than the man could take, and he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

His partner stumbled backwards in fear as the faceless Sorceror walked into the alley, charging up another salvo of magical bolts in his left sleeve. A moment later, the minor weight of the winged beast crashed onto his shoulder, and the man squeaked in fear.

"Now, perhaps you'd care to tell me why you're chasing after this kid." Morris said to the thug. He wrapped his tail about the fellow's neck, scraping his eager stinger just underneath the slaver's throat to emphasize his situation.

The man swallowed loudly. "We were going to bring him in…sell him on the market. But he got away from us."

As Trevor picked himself up and ran over to hide behind the black cloaked mage, Morris threw Marik a careful glance. _Looks like we saved him, all right._

_**The slave market. I'd heard stories, but I didn't think we'd run across it.**_

_ Well, seems like we have._

"The boy's got no such future ahead of him." Morris replied coldly, jamming his tail into the man's neck and pumping a heavy dose of his paralyzing venom into him. There was only a few seconds of feeble resistance before he froze up and collapsed to the ground.

Trevor's lip was still quivering as Morris flew up to Marik's shoulder, exhaling. "Relax, kid. I don't bite. Well, much." He qualified, after a moment's thought. "I'm not that scary."

"It's not you." Trevor hiccupped, affected by something other than the revelation that the voice of the man he'd thought of as Marik was really a winged devil. "Those…Those men…"

"They're not going to hurt you any longer." Morris reassured the boy. "Trust me, they won't be moving for a while yet, long enough for us to get out of here."

"No!" Trevor exclaimed, his panic finally giving in to the other emotion that flooded his young heart. "They took my sister!"

Morris's beady eyes blinked once. _Aw, geez…_

_**Slavers. **_Marik thought back, nearly spitting the transmission. _**I despise them.**_

"I have to go." Trevor said resolutely, preparing to bolt away.

"Go where?" Morris demanded sharply. The boy looked at the winged creature as if he was stupid.

"You may have saved me, but my sister is still in danger! They're going to take her and…"

"Take her where?" Morris interrupted, beginning to understand why Marik was glad he didn't have to talk to people often. Trying to get the boy to make sense was frustrating.

Trevor sniffled. "I don't know. Once they take someone and sell them off, that's it."

"But if it's hopeless, then what were you trying to do?"

"If I can get to their headquarters before they send her off…"

Morris silenced the boy with a blast of air from his wings. "There." He muttered with a sigh. "Was that so hard?"

Trevor blinked. "What?"

"You had me thinking that you wouldn't be able to even get to her." Morris explained, and Marik shook his head. "But where is their stronghold? How many people do they have in there?"

"…They're on the west end of town. It's the old warehouse. The Watch stays away from them. Everyone does."

"And how many people do they have working for them?"

"I don't know." Trevor admitted quietly.

Marik Observant looked around, rubbing his teeth together. _**We don't have time for this. The Grey Shadow is going to get away from us at this rate.**_

_Perhaps you'd explain to me why you decided to get involved then. _Morris countered. _Aren't I the one who's always telling you it's not your fight?_

Trevor shook his head. "Let me go." He whispered. "I have to save her."

_"And just what makes you think you can save her?" _A new and slightly terrifying voice rasped. Trevor jumped and stared up to the hood, and the empty hood stared back at him. When the boy didn't answer, an impatient Marik spoke again. _"You're ten years old. Just what do you think you can do to save your sister? How can you help anyone?"_

Trevor bit his lip. "I have to try. I've lived here all my life, and the one thing that I never doubted was that I was _free_. So maybe I can't save her, but I've got the freedom to choose to _try_."

He tried to walk out of the alley, but Marik calmly stepped in front of him and blocked off his route. When Trevor tried to step around him, Marik moved again. The boy got indignant and hit the Sorceror's leg. "Let me go!"

Morris looked down at the boy in surprise. _Boss, what are you doing?_

Marik ignored the imp's question and shook his hooded head. _"You're not going after her, boy…"_

"She's my sister!" Trevor exclaimed, verging on panic again. Marik let out a watery sigh.

_"…Like I was saying…you're not going after her. Not alone." _

Both the boy and the imp did a double take as Marik said that. "Boss, are you thinking what I hear you thinking?"

"You mean, you'll help me?" Trevor asked, his voice wavering.

_"You won't get far without it." _Marik answered him. _"And I'd prefer you walk out of this with your life."_

"Why?" Trevor countered, suspicious. "You let me go. I'm not working for you anymore."

_"And maybe I'm doing this for another reason, did you ever think of that?" _Marik asked. _"Morris. Go find Ness and Rachel."_

The imp snorted. "Right, go find them. In this mess?"

_**You're faster than I am.**_

_What am I supposed to tell them?_

_**The truth, I'd imagine. **_

_That you weren't able to find out anything about the Grey Shadow, and you've gone off to strike a blow against slavery?_

_**Something like that.**_

Their interchange took all of perhaps five seconds, half what it would have been if they had spoken. It left Trevor staring blankly at the two before Morris finally snorted and lifted himself off of Marik's shoulder. "Fine, do whatever you want. Just don't die on me until I can get back to you."

_"Perish the thought."_ Marik answered. Morris looked to Trevor and harrumphed.

"He may sound funny, kid, but you can trust him. Just stick close and don't do anything stupid."

Trevor nodded, but said nothing. Morris took off into the air, disappearing soon after as he wrapped himself in invisibility.

Marik turned away from the paralyzed and unconscious slavers lying in the alley with solemn precision. _"We should get going."_

"Why are you doing this?" Trevor asked the Sorceror. The hood didn't move to look towards him. "This isn't your fight, it's mine. I tried to steal from you. Why are you doing this?"

_"Maybe I'm feeling generous, hmm?" _Marik answered, tiring of the questions.

"I don't think so." Trevor shot back. "Do you feel like you need to do this?"

As they walked out of the alley, Marik closed his eyes to fight off the wince. Even now, Rachel's voice still inflamed him.

_**We have to…because it's the right thing to do!**_

It was funny; he'd been raised to believe in the same thing. But those words, so simple and shallow whenever he tried to express them, never rang truer than when Rachel Ashbury said them. It stung him all the more when he thought of the foolish daydreams he'd let foster in his heart. He said nothing to Trevor's question, letting the embers smoulder inside of him and continue to eat away at him.

As they joined the crowd, a wary Trevor threw up one last question, a furtive jab at communication. "Just…Who are you? Really?"

Two for two today. Somehow, Trevor knew exactly what burning issues Marik hid behind his ensorcelled hood of darkness. The Shadow's question rang unbidden in his mind, an echo that pulsed from the past.

_**Who are you?**_

Marik walked a little closer to the boy and shook his head. _"I still don't know."_

* * *

><p>Marik and Trevor had maneuvered quickly through the narrow passages and alleys of Road's End, but it still took them a good half an hour, moving at a pace which would not attract undue attention, to reach their destination.<p>

Hiding in the shadows, Marik was all but invisible in his black clothes. Trevor, ducked behind the towering mage. "That's it." The boy spoke, his earlier resolve now shaky. "That's the slaver's warehouse."

Calmly, the Sorceror sized it up. It was about four stories tall with only a few windows, most of them broken. It had a dilapidated look to it, save for the doors; thick iron, with chains hanging from one handle.

_"It's not much to look at." _The Sorceror rasped, glancing his darkened hood towards the boy. He didn't know what surprised him more, the boy's indifference to Morris or his acceptance of Marik's voice.

"Can we take it?" Trevor asked hopefully. Marik withheld the derisive snort and thought over his options. Without Morris about, that list was incredibly short. His friend was more than just a sarcastic wit on wings; the imp had become an extension of Marik, in combat and in life.

Morris Redtail was not here, so that meant Marik could not send in his eyes and ears to patrol the scene under cover of disappearance. About the only thing Marik could do was rely on his spells and his silence. It would have to do, for the moment.

_"Stay back."_ Marik ordered the boy, just before he began to growl, casting a spell. As Trevor retreated farther back into the alley, Marik vanished from sight. Safe within the confines of his spell of invisibility, the Sorceror moved out and crossed the street.

Opening the door would have been tantamount to suicide, and Marik had more sense in his head than to do something that idiotic. Instead, he maneuvered around the side of the building, and found a broken window one flight up. As near as he could tell, there were no jagged shards of glass left in the frame to stab at his hand. The trick would be making his way to the window at all.

His failed duel against the Grey Shadow rang out in his mind when he crouched down and braced himself.

_He jumped higher than I ever did back at the Roadside Temple. _

Marik's leap took him clear up to the lip of the ten foot high window. Holding his grunt to himself, Marik strained his slender limbs and dragged himself up the rest of the way. Much to his relief, he'd been right about the glass, and nothing jammed into his palms. Coming to rest in the window, Marik finally got his first good look at the interior of the warehouse which nobody dared to enter. It was dusty around the edges, and there were a few chairs, and tables with maps and money. There was a row of barred cells at the far end of the warehouse, filled full of people in all manner of dress, whose only crime had been that they were unfortunate enough to be captured by the slavers.

Marik could feel his blood boiling, and he had no doubts that Rodian, so far away from him, wouldn't have stood for it either. The only thing that stayed his hand from throwing down wave after wave of magical blasts was common sense. It would be suicide to rush in blindly. Rodian had taught him better than that.

_Morris, there are days I realize how much I rely on you._ Marik transmitted, and over the distance of Road's End, he felt his friend's chuckle.

From the size of it, Marik could make out a contingent of guards armed with light blades and daggers. They were all strong men, reliant on strength rather than any sense of agility. Four…no, five of them. And that didn't include the two men inside a partitioned off room as well.

Marik thought it over. He didn't think he could take seven by himself. If he had _Morris_ with him, maybe. Success always came back to his winged friend.

Some of the men inside suddenly reacted, moving towards the door below. A muffled noise from outside made Marik freeze and realize why. One of the slavers was dragging a struggling and kicking Trevor inside the building.

_Oh no._ Marik felt his blood run cold. Somehow, they had found Trevor. The door to the partitioned room within the warehouse opened, and a sharp-eyed older gentleman in flowing robes stepped out with a bemused expression on his face. By now, Marik had seen enough people of similar dress to know him for what he was; a wizard.

Trevor was brought before the magician, surrounded by the slavers. The slaver mage pulled on his thinning black goatee for a moment, looking at the boy. "Well, well. Where did you find this chap?"

"He was outside, hiding in an alley." The man who had captured him commented gruffly. "I figured he'd bring in a bag of gold."

"Maybe two." The wizard announced appraisingly. He knelt down a bit and cupped Trevor's chin in his hand, tilting the boy's angry, defiant face up to him. "He's got spirit. That and his age will both pay well." He stood back up and chuckled. "He'll live longer than most slaves, after all."

"So do we add him to the lot?" One of the men asked.

"Go right ahead."

His blood boiling, Marik realized he could wait no longer. The mage in their ranks would be troublesome, and he hoped that he would be able to muster enough of a defense to shut down his spellcasting. Barring that, there was also that lingering hope that he would be as resilient to the man's spells as he hoped he would be. He pushed himself through the window and sprang to the warehouse floor below, extending his longsword out to the side as he did.

The action broke his spell of invisibility, and the slavers and their mage commander turned in surprise. Trevor's panicking eyes went wide. "Marik! Help me!"

_**I'm working on it, if you would shut up for a minute.**_ Marik braced himself, then leapt into the fray, catching the first man completely off his guard with a few slashes that finished him off.

The wizard's eyes darkened as he pulled back away from Marik, dragging Trevor with him. "Kill him!" Came the sharp order. The rest of the slavers had already begun to draw their weapons, and they circled about Marik. The Sorceror crouched low, ready to spring in any direction. With his left hand, he began to muster a cloud of green energy about his hand; the signal for a salvo of magical bolts.

Morris should have been there. The imp's style of sting, vanish, and sting again had always been calculated in Marik's mind as something he could rely on, and unconsciously, he had altered his own style of fighting, as average as he was in comparison to true swordsmen, to keep track of that distinction. Without Morris, blows that would have never fallen began to land, and nicks and cuts began to litter his dark black robes and cloak. His spells, while effective in causing a few of his attackers to retreat to lick their wounds, could not act fast enough to stop them all.

Eventually, he realized that he'd sealed his own doom this time around, right around the third blow from a heavy club to the back of his head. The voices of his attackers became muddled, and he slumped to his knees.

The mage said something in a sharp tone, and the slavers retreated away from him. Dully, Marik turned his hooded face up to stare towards the man.

Trevor lay beside him, subdued with manacles of ice about his wrists. The wizard stroked on his black goatee a few more times, sizing him up. "I don't know who you are, and I don't particularly care. I don't have the time to deal with you." He waved his hands about each other, then shoved them forth as fists. A wave of blue energy, not unlike the force spheres that the dark wizard had employed against Marik back in Samael's Lands launched out and struck him full in the chest.

The attack hurled Marik backwards into a jail cell that had been left open. Before the Sorceror could do anything to resist, the slaver mage followed it up with another incantation. The manacles on the walls sprung to life, glowing briefly with purple energy as they snaked around him and snapped on his wrists, pinning him through the fabric of his cloak. In the pained haze he was in, Marik managed a feeble struggle against his prison, then fell silent.

"Come on. We'd best clear out of here." The wizard commanded, and the slavers began to pull out, leaving Marik alone in his cell. "We have to get this batch on the road heading west. Cerzya will be impatient if he doesn't receive his shipment." Trevor's screams were the last thing Marik heard before darkness swallowed him.

* * *

><p>"There are days I wish Marik wasn't so damn stubborn." Morris growled, flying lazy circles above Rachel's head as the girl knelt down nervously over his slumped body, using a spell to determine how bad off he was. "Running off and getting himself locked up in a damned cage? This is a new low."<p>

"Rachel pulled her hand back from the edge of his cloak, relieved. "He's beaten, but not bleeding. Hold on, I'll wake him up." She looked back at Ness, who was glancing about the interior of the warehouse. "Is it safe?"

"Whoever was in here's long since cleared out." The Cursed Blade answered. "I just hope Marik can tell us what he found here." His comment carried over Rachel's spell, and the Sorceror began to stir as the healing energies brought him back from the brink.

Rachel's worried blue eyes tried to peer into the empty depths of his hood. "Are you all right, Marik?"

_"Trevor!" _Marik suddenly exploded, trying to leap from where he lay. The manacles stayed firmly locked about his sleeved wrists, and he drew the chains taut.

"Hold still, Marik! Calm down!" Rachel ordered nervously. "Fighting isn't going to get those off of you!"

After a few moments, Marik leaned back against the wall and gave his hood a slow nod. "Better." Rachel said, glancing to their other companion. "Ness, could you come and get these chains off of Marik?"

The imp fluttered down beside her. "Ehhh…I don't think he needs to." He motioned to Marik, just as the Sorceror concluded a low set of growls. The invisible arcane energies he summoned snapped the manacles off of him in moments, and he rose to his feet. "He's pretty good at getting himself out of most locks."

"So why couldn't you get yourself out of there in the first place then?" Ness asked, arching an eyebrow. Morris perched himself on the Sorceror's shoulder when he cleared the cage, and resumed the glazed expression he had when Marik spoke through him.

"It's not easy to cast a spell, even a cantrip, when you're knocked unconscious from a brutal assault. But we've got bigger problems right now. They took Trevor."

The imp blinked as he finished relaying the message, turning on Marik. "Say _what_? What do you mean they got Trevor?! I thought you had his back!"

Already in a dour mood, Marik had no patience. _**What do you want me to say, Morris? That I got in over my head? I've no time to be apologizing.**_

"Who is Trevor?" Ness asked, walking closer to his comrade.

"A kid that Marik picked up trying to pickpocket back in the streets. He's been going with us all day." The imp gave a toothy stare. "Marik thought that he might be able to help us track down some leads on the Shadow, but we turned up nil. People either don't know about him, or don't want to."

"So who 'got' Trevor, then?" Rachel asked, puzzled.

The Sorceror couldn't help but grip his hands at his sides. _"Slavers."_ He spoke. The word darkened Ness' face, and made the Calyssan gasp.

"No..." Rachel whispered.

Marik walked over, tilting his hooded head down towards Ness. The Cursed Blade looked up into the absolute darkness within the hood, waiting.

"They said they were going west." Morris explained. "If we hurry, we might be able to catch up to them and…"

"Hold on just one damn moment." Ness interrupted grimly. "And do what?"

"Stop them!" Rachel insisted, for the idea had grown on her quickly. "Ness, we can't let them get away with this!"

The Cursed Blade still hesitated, and Morris spoke up again. "You know, chief, I thought you'd be used to this by now."

"Right." Ness exhaled, tangling a hand in his curly hair. "Somebody needs help, and even though it will take us miles out of our way, we go and do it. And why? 'Because it's the right thing to do', as the two of you always tell me." He closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. "I have greater misgivings about this time, though. This isn't just stopping a band of roadside bandits, and it's even worse than when we stopped that villainous band from marching on Denvale." He made sure that both of them saw the serious look on his face. "Slavery has existed in Istus for hundreds of years. What you are suggesting that we do broaches on illegality, in their eyes. And if Marik's failed rescue was any indicator, they will not fall easily. Knowing all that, do you still want to do this?"

If there was one thing that the swordsman could rely on, it was the steadfast determination of the young girl, who had slowly been forged through their trials into a promising adventurer. Her steady blue eyes held the same fire as ever, moreso, after what she had seen earlier in the day. Marik simply nodded, more restrained in his faceless expressions.

Chewing on his lower lip, Ness turned back to Marik and Morris. "All right." He said, finally accepting the situation. "So how far out do you think they've gotten by now?"

* * *

><p><em>The Roadside Inn<em>

_487 N.E._

_Headmaster Williamson was waiting in his office, sitting at his desk and going over more of the paperwork which kept the church of the Traveler alive and running when the knock came._

_ He pushed the papers aside and looked up with heavy eyes. This was the meeting that he had been dreading all day. "Enter." He commanded, and the door swung open._

_ In marched Desmond Rodian, and clinging to his leg, the young, four year old Marik Observant. "You asked to see us, Headmaster?" The young, red-haired priest asked warily. _

_ "Well, I asked to see Marik specifically, but you are welcome to stay." Williamson explained. He stood up and walked about his desk, his arms held behind him. "How are you doing today, Marik?"_

_ The young boy, who dressed in a drab acolyte's smock with a long hood and sleeves too big for him, slowly nodded his head up and down, holding tighter to Father Rodian._

_ "I apologize, Headmaster." The younger servant of the Traveler explained. "Marik's a little frightened."_

_ "He shouldn't be." The old cleric reassured them both. He bent down to one knee, smiling at Marik. "It's all right; you can take off the hood, Marik."_

"But I'm a monster."

_ The old man flinched at that. "Who says you are?"_

"Everyone."_ The young boy mumbled, giving his head a shake. _

_ "By the Traveler." Williamson exhaled softly. "Marik, it doesn't matter what everyone else says. Do you believe you're a monster?"_

"I…I don't want to."

_ "Then don't." Rodian said to him, repeating what had become a mantra to try and keep the boy's self-esteem from plummeting. "It's all right; The Headmaster doesn't think you're a monster, do you Headmaster?"_

_ The old man slowly nodded in assent. "He's right, Marik. I've known you since you were very little. I worry about you. But you're not a monster, not in the Traveler's eyes, and not in mine." He waved his hand. "So go ahead. Nobody will hurt you here."_

_ Slowly, Marik raised his deformed hands out of his sleeves and pushed the hood off of his head. Blinking his strange eyes, he looked up with what served as a fearful expression to the Headmaster._

_ Doing his best to remain expressionless, the leader of the temple nodded slowly. "I heard that you caused an incident today in Father Fardhaval's class. Is that true?"_

_ Mutely, the child nodded._

_ "I see." The wizened old priest mused, standing up. "What happened, exactly?"_

_ "Marik told me that they…" Marik's adopted father began._

_ "I want to hear it from the boy, Rodian." The Headmaster said warningly, cutting him off. "What happened, Marik?"_

_ The young child threw a searching glance to Rodian, and the older man eventually nodded. "Go ahead, Marik."_

"…They scared me."_ Marik said slowly. _"They started calling me names, and I…I just…"_ His voice faltered, and he closed his eyes. _"I just wanted them all to stop looking at me. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

_ Williamson threw a glance at Rodian, and a thought crossed their lines of sight. _

_ "Now listen to me very carefully, Marik." The Headmaster said quietly. "What were you thinking when it happened? What were you thinking when the room exploded in sparks?" _

"Afraid."_ The boy whispered, in his own rasping fashion. _"I was afraid, and I wanted to scream. And I felt like I had…"_ He finally brought it to an end and gave his head a shake. _"I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry, I don't want to be in trouble like last time…"

_ The Headmaster silenced him by placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're not in trouble. I just wanted you to tell me about what happened. That was all."_

_ Marik looked up, hopeful. The Headmaster smiled at him and motioned to his desk. "Why don't you take my ball and go play in my study for a while? I need to talk to Father Rodian for a while, all right?"_

_ Marik nodded, relieved. _"I promise I won't break anything."_ He said as brightly as his voice could muster. The Headmaster leveled a finger at him, still smiling._

_ "I'm counting on you." Marik trotted over to the old cleric's desk and found a small hard rubber ball, then ran off into the next room to play. _

_ When he was out of earshot, and the sound of the ball bouncing off of the wall was audible enough, Desmond Rodian looked to his superior. "All right, then." He said quietly. "What was all that about?"_

_ The old man stood there, clucking his tongue for a few moments before he spoke. "Tell me, Desmond. Does anything in what Marik told us seem odd to you?"_

_ "Well, I can't rightly understand how exactly anyone thinks Marik is to blame for that minor explosion in Fardhaval's foraging class. Even he's not entirely sure what happened…"_

_ "The boy is four, my son." Headmaster Williamson reminded him quietly. "No mind that young is ever too sure of what really happens for very long. But if we are to assume that Marik was the source of the incident, then we find ourselves with one realization."_

_ "Wait. Are you…he could not have cast a spell." Rodian uttered, not giving the theory credence. "He is too young. He does not feel the Traveler's will, or glow with his divine favor. And even the wizards of elsewhere have to study and train for years to summon the most basic forces."_

_ "And here is where you have not considered all the possibilities." Williamson interjected. "There is something else that Marik might just be, which would give him the ability to manifest such magical force. Only they're far rarer, and few ever survive for very long." _

_ Rodian sifted through all the stories, myths, and rumors he'd ever heard on his journeys. The idea that came to mind out of all of that was sobering. "You don't mean…you don't honestly think that Marik might be…"_

_ "A Sorceror." The old cleric finished. "That's just what I think he is." _

_ Suddenly, Father Rodian felt like sitting down. _

_ "But he's only four!"_

_ "Sorcerors manifest their powers at a young age, as the stories tell us. Usually it's a small sign; their room gets cold, objects start to dance around in their room, or they begin to see magical auras. Marik's case just seems to be a bit more violent; likely due to his situation." _

_ Rodian eventually began to see the logic of it. "His situation is probably never going to get any better, you know. Here he has sanctuary, for as long as he wishes it. But that doesn't help protect him from the hateful eyes of the others here."_

_ "No." Williamson murmured. "No, it doesn't. It is all the more important, then, that he knows that some do care for him, and always will." The Headmaster went back to his desk and sat down, folding his hands together. "I don't know how his kind rears children. Certainly, they do not use the methods we are now. I hope he will be the better for it." He glanced over his thumbs. "And after that incident two months ago…"_

_ "There won't be a repeat of it." Rodian said firmly. "It made Marik sick to death; he was barely aware of anything. He's told me he never wants to have that happen again."_

_ "Good." Williamson sighed. "Some of our newest additions are still on edge about that. Not everyone is as forgiving of his presence here as you or I. They still fear he will grow to be as monstrous as every other of his kind. It is good to hear that he is defying their predictions."_

_ "And what about yours?" The younger priest asked pointedly. "What prediction do you have for Marik?"_

_ Williamson looked the younger cleric of Weyveliste in the eye and blinked once. "I believe that Marik's future is dependent upon two things; your continued support, as his surrogate father, and giving him something beyond the legacy his appearance grants him." He tapped his fingers together a few more times, then cleared his throat. "If we're to do that, it seems that the Traveler has given us a way to reach out to him."_

_ Rodian's ears perked up. "How so, Headmaster?"_

_ "If he truly is a Sorceror, as I suspect him to be, then we can help him come to terms with it." Rodian leaned back in his chair, pondering the idea. "Here in the temple, we have a plethora of traveling minstrels who dabble in the arcane arts. We even have a mage or two who are favorable to the guardians of the road which could be sworn to the same secrecy as all of those who work within the walls of this place." Williamson nodded again at the idea. "No, we will not let Marik stumble blindly with his newfound strength. We will help him to harness it, so that the next time something like this happens, the others of the temple don't find themselves blinded by that cantrip."_

_ Rodian knew it was the best choice, given their options. Still, he turned sadly towards the sound of the rubber ball bouncing against the wall, where Marik was playing._

_ "I'm afraid for him."_

_ "You should be." Williamson folded his hands. "You are the closest thing to a father he has here."_

_ "But what if it's too much?" Rodian asked, concerned. "He's only four years old. What you're talking about, even if it will do him some good…"_

_ "I know how old he is, Desmond." The old priest cracked his knuckles, then flattened his fists against the desk. "But I think that Marik might surprise you. He may surprise us all with what he is truly able to handle."_

_ Rodian, now and forevermore the worried parent, gripped the armrests of his chair a little tighter. "How can you be so sure?" He asked in a whisper._

_ The rubber ball bounced again, and the Headmaster resisted the urge to open his desk and take out the medallion that Marik's mother had left him._

_ "I get feelings on occasion." The old man finally said._

_ The ball's muffled thuds filled the silence._

* * *

><p><em>Eastern Istus<em>

_503 N.E._

After their run-in with Marik, the slavers were more cautious than usual. Their caravan, a set of barred wagons that ensured their human cargo could not escape during transport, was protected by a moderate force of the mercenaries on the payroll. Leading the caravan, of course, was the wizard in charge of the delivery. Sitting in the lead wagon, he would occasionally stroke his fingers across the surface of his spellbook, to reassure himself that nothing could go wrong. It was an irrational fear, perhaps, but after he and his men had subdued and jailed that foolish boy scout of a mage, he'd gone back and memorized a few more offensive spells. He hoped he would not have to use them.

The caravan moved quickly, kicking up dust along the well-worn highway that led west. Even pushing the horses to their limits, the trip would take them about four days, and the wizard wanted to be well out of Road's End before nightfall. After all, there was no telling if the mage they'd subdued might wake up, despite his injuries. He might even come after them, as he seemed to have a certain bond with the youth who they'd taken in just before leaving.

"I still say you should have killed 'im." One of his subordinates voiced, shaking the wizard from his musings long enough to glare at the scruffy looking slaver.

"Did it occur to you at the time that a death might be harder to explain?" The spellwielding slaver retorted. "Corruption may be the order of the day in Road's End, but killing off the wrong person can bring down the whole stack of cards. After all, there's no telling these days who is whose cousin, and gods know what else."

The slaver blinked a few more times before snapping the reins, speeding up the carriage. "Still shoulda killed 'im."

Sighing, the wizard recalled why he always got so bored in this line of work. There was nobody worth talking to.

Hundreds of feet away, Ness Benson led his three comrades after the caravan, riding on horses that snorted at full gallop. There was an element of excitement in their ride that couldn't be dispelled, and Morris continued to weave in circles above their heads. "I can see 'em!" He called down encouragingly, after another loop high up into the air. "They're not much farther on ahead; Looks like they're moving pretty fast."

"You must have worried them a bit, I think." Ness observed, glancing to their faceless, brooding Sorceror. "It won't be easy to take them by surprise."

Morris came down and landed on Marik's shoulder, becoming interpreter once again. "It could be easier than you think, in the right circumstances. We just have to stop their caravan."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Ness asked. "We'll never catch up with them, and even if we do, they'll be on us in moments."

Marik's hood bobbed slowly, and his green Sorceror's hand manifested beside the scroll keeper tied about his waist. The imp just waggled an eyebrow, smiling at a joke only he knew. "Do you ever get tired of being the voice of reason, Ness?" The question was emphasized when the disembodied hand of magical energy tapped the side of Marik's curious device. _Shhhhoomp_ing with the same comical sound as ever, it fired off another small scroll that the hand caught quickly, and unrolled in one smooth motion.

"Just stay back for now, and come riding in hard when you hear the signal!" Morris barked, overpowering the low growl Marik let loose as he unleashed the energies within the scroll.

Rachel, both hands held tightly about the reins of her own horse, worried. "And just what is the signal, exactly?"

As the scroll's writing vanished, and Marik directed the floating hand to roll up and deposit the empty parchment back in the magical container, the imp chuckled and gave the healer and swordsman a mischevious wink. "Just listen for the explosions."

Growling as he summoned one last spell, Marik dismounted from his horse with a superhuman leap, landing in a dead run that took him off into the distance in moments. About sixty feet from them, he vanished into thin air, as did Morris. The Cursed Blade pursed his lips for a moment, then gave his head a shake.

"He still finds ways to surprise me. I just hope he knows what he's doing."

"Don't worry, Ness." The young healer beside him commented, concentrating briefly in prayer as she cast a spell. The swordsman felt an invisible touch on his shoulder, warm and soothing, and Rachel smiled. "I'll be keeping track of all of you."

Chuckling at her, Ness slacked off on the reins, letting his horse move into a trot. "Why do I always feel so much safer when you say that?"

Far ahead, in the middle of the caravan, some of the guards could have sworn that they heard swift footsteps approaching, and they turned to the noise with a curious look. However, a rush of air blew past them, and not knowing any better, they dismissed it as the wind playing tricks on their mind. After all, the slavers thought, everybody was on edge; it wasn't all that out of the question that they would hear things.

Already far ahead of them as the two guards resumed their original posts, the imp stifled his cackle, but couldn't stop the smug grin. _Those idiots didn't even give us a second look._

_**I would hope not. **_Marik answered sternly, making swift strides from the magical scroll he had discharged. Moving at an enhanced speed, he was making short work of running through the caravan, and more importantly, he wasn't getting any more winded than was feasible. _**It's their wizard I'm worried about.**_

_You think he'll see you coming?_

_**That dark mage we crossed paths with south of Denvale certainly did. I'm not taking any chances here.**_

Eventually, they made it to the front of the caravan running at Marik's breakneck pace. The Sorceror breathed a sigh of relief; the mage who had overpowered him back in Road's End was staring off blankly to the road ahead, a pensive look on his face.

_**Not for much longer. Stay on your toes, Morris, it's going to get interesting.**_

_It always is when you're around, boss. I've got your back._

Growling, Marik began to create an orb of flames in front of him, then launched it at the lead wagon. He snapped back into plain sight as soon as the ball was launched, and the wizard and his counterpart had a look of shock before they leapt out of the wagon, mere moments before the spell hit and the wooden transport began to burn uncontrollably.

The wizard was seething when he rose to his feet. "You." He spat out. "Damn you, how did you escape so quickly?!"

The slaver beside the wizard pulled off the shield hanging from his back and brandished a shortspear. "I don't rightly care." The man growled. "He's dead now."

Marik examined them both; the slaver wizard that was beginning to prepare a spell, and the man advancing on him with a sizable threat. He didn't think long before glancing back to the rest of the caravan, pleased to see that it had halted its forward movement as the guards at the rear began to have the news of their sudden stop filtered towards them.

Growling as he did, he jerked a sleeve up into the air and loose one of his minor dweomers; The shining point of light flowed up into the air and exploded into a shower of blinding sparks. The concussive noise of it echoed about as well, and that was the effect Marik had been hoping for.

_**Morris, go find Trevor.**_

Invisible, but close by, the imp let out a mental grunt of surprise. _Are you crazy? They're nearly on top of you!_

Summoning a welcome and familiar green field of light about his body, Marik braced himself for the impact of the spear-wielding soldier. _**I can deal with them. Just trust me, and save the boy; get to Ness and Rachel if you can.**_

Morris was silent for a bit before his invisible wings began to flap off. _You'd better be damn sure about this, boss. I just got you back._

Marik waited until the lead soldier was in close, then summoned out his Sorceror's hand and turned the end of the spear away from him with a quick grab and twist. While the man was trying to regain his balance, Marik swept the shield in the same direction with a sleeved backhand, and then snapped out his springloaded longsword.

The man barely had time to utter a scream before Marik had left a wicked gash across his forearm. The badly wounded slaver stumbled away, and Marik turned to the wizard.

A salvo of four orange-tinted magic bolts slammed into his chest, then fizzled as Marik tightened his focus to the surprise and let nature take over. There'd been a moment of minor pain, but nothing nearly as damaging as the slaver mage had hoped.

The man's face twitched for a moment, noticing how poorly the tried and true spell had worked. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" The wizard growled.

Marik fell into a defensive stance, and let the man continue on with his next spell.

_**Time to see if Milon's gift can truly work.**_

At the rear of the caravan, only the closest guards were aware enough to notice the two horses barreling down on them. "We're being am…" One of the men began, just before an arrow from Rachel's crossbow took him in the chest. He collapsed to the ground, rasping for air that didn't come. The second guard fumbled for his shortsword and shield, but Ness was already riding down on top of him.

"Brightflame!" The Cursed Blade screamed, and the broadsword held in his right arm became engulfed in fire. Ness rolled from his horse and kept running towards the man, gripping his fiery sword in both hands. A mighty slash tore through the shield of the man and sent him stumbling backwards. The wild-eyed slaver whipped his blade about, and Ness took a few steps back, not wanting a quick end at the point of it.

Thankfully, the problem was solved when a tail, and the imp attached to it, appeared out of thin air at the man's neck and stabbed him full of paralyzing venom. In a few seconds, the man's body froze up and he collapsed, his eyes dancing wildly in his head.

Morris gave Ness a casual glance. "Geez, you're starting to lose your touch, chief." The Cursed Blade gave the imp a dry expression, keeping his sword aflame.

"I would have thought that you would be at Marik's side. Why are you here?"

Rachel dismounted from her horse and came up beside them, a worried expression on her face. "I can feel him. Marik's in a duel up at the front; He's not hurt bad yet, but…"

"Trust me, he's worried." Morris finished for her, using his keener empathic connection with the brooding Sorceror. "He has a job for us, though. We have to get these people out of here, and we have to find Trevor!"

A few more of the guards finally noticed them and came charging, swords and spears at the ready. Ness sized them all up and tsked for a moment before readying his sword. "One of these days, I've got to learn how to use this thing with only one hand. All right, fine. Marik seems to have chosen his own role in this mess. Rachel, go with Morris; start freeing these people. I'll handle the rabble."

"That plan only works as long as you can keep them all away from us." Morris interjected tersely.

Ness whipped his fiery sword about a few times, wishing for all the world that it was the Grey Shadow he was using it against. "That's why she has you then, isn't it Morris? I'll keep them at bay; Now go already!"

"One last thing, Ness." Rachel uttered shyly, stepping to his side and pulling his face down towards hers. Arching up on her toes, she caught him in a deep kiss that left him breathless, and a familiar, reassuring glow of divine magic fell about him.

Blushing as she stepped back from the kiss and the blessing, Rachel gave him a keen smile. "Fight well."

"For your honor, milady." Ness answered, unable to keep from grinning. The imp and the Calyssan turned away and ran to the other side of the caravan. As she ran, Rachel uttered another soft prayer, and she glowed for a moment with an awe-inspiring light. Seeing her disappear beyond his sight, Ness gave her one last encouraging smile. "That's my girl. Don't ever let them hurt you."

A roar from the closest soldier, a spear carrying slaver, drew his attention back in a moment. Pulsing with Rachel's blessing, Ness sidestepped the stab and cleaved off the head of the man's weapon.

Another slash incapacitated the man, and then he turned to the others that kept running at him. "Plenty more where that came from, you monsters!" The Cursed Blade roared, feeling more alive every moment.

It was a divergence from their pursuit of the Grey Shadow, but Ness had to admit it left him feeling more alive, more true to himself than he had been in a very long time. It had always been said that in Istus, a land where the only law was based on brute force and only money and power kept a citizen safe for any length of time, slavery could not be stopped. Now alongside the three most curious individuals he had ever known in his near thirty years of life, the jaded warrior began to realize that just might not be true. It only took hearts willing to face any odds, go any distance, to accomplish small miracles.

With Rachel's love filling his tired heart, Ness believed in miracles again.

* * *

><p>A lightning bolt lanced out from the slaver wizard's right hand, arcing towards Marik. While the Sorceror knew that he'd built a certain resistance towards offensive magic, he was in no mood to try his luck against a spell that powerful. His left sleeve and the hand within maneuvered with quick and forceful intent. He slashed out in front of him and hurled forth an invisible mist of dismissive might.<p>

The lightning crashed against Marik's dispersive field and struggled against it before dissipating and falling silent. Silently, Marik allowed himself a sigh of relief.

_**Milon, you obscure little wizard. It really did work. **_

His foe was visibly irritated at Marik's defense, and he began to chant another spell. This one, Marik recognized by the motions alone; the man was trying to summon up a sphere of blue light, symbolizing the aspect of force in the dweomer. That one, he knew by experience, would hit him and work. Of course, he had no intention of being tossed about like a rag doll a third time, and he took off in a dash about the wizard, circling him and waiting for the shot to come. Marik began to growl, summoning the power for another dispelling

The blue sphere of light came to light in the slaver's hands, and he bored his eyes on Marik. "Try neutralizing _this_ one, you stubborn fool!" He held it carefully, and both mages watched each other, one trying to place the shot and the other doing his best to not create too clear of a target. The slaver's eyes narrowed, and he fired off the sphere of pure force, guiding it by the subtle movement of his hands. Marik slashed his left sleeve out in front of him again, but when the blue ball connected with the dispelling wave, it emerged on the other side only partially disrupted.

_**Blast it to all the…**_Marik cursed to himself, darting in a series of quick jumps about to avoid the stroke. The sphere continued to track him, and Marik pushed off of the ground with his powerful legs to avoid it.

The edge clipped the side of his boot and sent him into a spin he couldn't control. He landed hard on his stomach, and his hooded head bounced off of the ground with a jarring, painful impact. The stinging sensation left his senses reeling.

He could hear, through the buzzing of pain in his ears, that the wizard was drawing close to him. There was the scent of ozone in the air, and a crackling sound Marik's muddled thoughts couldn't immediately place. A sudden flaring pain made it clear. Marik let out an inhuman screech of pain as the electricity flared up his right arm, conducted from the longsword extended out of his sleeve.

The wizard stepped back as Marik spasmed on the ground, smug and sure of himself. "You know, it was very considerate of you to give me a lightning rod for that spell." He pulled his hand, which finished crackling as the last sparks of electricity wore themselves out, back to his side. "Foolish of you to come here, though. Utterly foolish."

Hurt, but far from out, Marik sluggishly tried to pull himself back to his feet. He growled on the way up, and a faint glow of green surrounded his left sleeve. The wizard didn't move, just watching Marik stand up. Perhaps he hadn't noticed the spell Marik was preparing; just as well. It would be nice if fortune smiled on him for a change.

As Marik swung up, his arm whipped about in a throwing motion, and three spheres of green light shot towards the enemy mage. To Marik's surprise, the man just stood there and smiled, knowing some secret he did not.

The bolts curled in towards his chest, then jumped at the last moment and shrank as they aimed to his throat. In a blink, they disappeared, and a dull glow beneath the mages' collar made Marik cringe in frustration.

To make the point clear, the slaver held up a pendant Marik was familiar with; a defensive charm against the most basic magical attack. "Come on now. Did you really think I wouldn't be prepared for your simple little tricks?" The wizard drew out a shortsword which crackled with electricity when it loosed from the scabbard. "Any last words before I kill you, then?"

Still weak from the shock, Marik couldn't help but sway back and forth as he sized up his opponent. It was then that a cry carried from farther back in the slave caravan.

"We're under attack!" Shouted one of the mages' subordinates.

Smiling in the confines of his hood as shock and disbelief filled his enemy's eyes, Marik shook off his fatigue and fell into a defensive stance. _"Just a few." _He rasped in his own way, answering the wizard's question. _"I didn't come alone."_

* * *

><p>Ness was almost laughing as they kept coming at him. Running on adrenaline and the divine courage Rachel had instilled in him, the Cursed Blade found that Brightflame nearly sang as he swung it. Weakened shields were sundered under the weight of the enchanted sword, spears were cut and directed away, and swords and daggers proved no match for their better. "Oh, come on now!" Ness chastised them. "You run a slave caravan and you don't even have the sense to come prepared for an ambush or two?!" He whirled on a spear whose edge grated against his chainmail, spinning it away from him before Brightflame severed it in half. The man tried to pull back, but Ness swung a fist about and caught him full in the chin. The punch felled the man quickly, and Ness looked for the others. There were none left to fight, though. Rachel's courage and his own might had managed to work a small miracle. Ness couldn't recall the last time he'd faced such odds and emerged relatively unscathed; he only carried a gash along his forearm and leg for his troubles, nothing that slowed him down too much. Brightflame flickered in his hands, waiting.<p>

Just as Ness thought he'd eliminated the last of those who were going to bear down on him, a guard better prepared than the others rushed him from the front of the caravan. He carried a long axe with a spear at the other end of the iron hilt, and wore a suit of chain which covered most of his body. Glowering at the foolhardy swordsman in the green cloak, he whipped the large battleaxe over his head once and readied himself.

Ness turned towards him and gripped Brightflame tighter. "What, no statement of pride or outrage?"

The man charged at him, swinging his weapon in a wicked arc. Ness jumped backwards, but the man kept charging, letting the axe curve around until the spear at its end was turned towards Ness. Narrowly, Ness avoided being skewered from the barrage, though his cloak held a few holes in it at the end. "Damn, you're not much for talk, are you?" Ness murmured, his grin vanishing in an instant. Rachel would have a devil of a time weaving his cloak back together when this was all over with, provided he could keep his head long enough. The slaver charged on, and the axe cleaved down, forcing Ness to throw himself to the side to avoid losing a shoulder. Brightflame pulsed in his hands, and Ness slipped back into the pattern of it. "Guide my hands, friend." He whispered to the weapon, and Brightflame glowed all the more.

Distant from Ness' struggle, Rachel couldn't help but bite her lip as she and Morris tried to undo the locks on the carriages. From the spell she had cast prior, she could sense their health and vitality, and both were starting to show signs of strain. "They're in trouble."

"Marik's always in trouble." Morris countered, perching on her shoulder as she fumbled with the lock, using a scrap of metal to pick it. "Why should today be any different?"

"Oh, blast it all!" The girl snapped, slamming her palm against the door to the first carriage. "I can't unlock it!"

Morris contemplated it for a moment, his tail swishing back and forth behind him. "Well, it would make sense that there's some kind of a key, right?" Rachel glanced about, making sure that nobody was noticing them.

"I'd assume so, but we haven't exactly had the time to ask. If Marik were here, he could open this in an instant, couldn't he?"

"Well, yeah." The imp chuffed, jumping down and using the claws on his hands and feet to stick to the wooden door of the barred carriage. "He's got his own brand of surprises, but so do I." He whirled his tail about a few more times, then jammed the barbed end of his stinger deep into the door's lock.

"What are you…"

"If you'd be quiet, I could get this open." Morris chastised her. A few moments of silence from the girl, and Morris gritting his teeth in concentration won results. The door let out an audible click as the tumblers within undid themselves, and the imp smiled. "Gotcha. Like I was saying, I've got a few tricks of my own."

"I didn't know you could pick locks!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Well, it's not like you often find much reason to, but yeah. It's a little something I picked up while Marik was busy honing his spells. I figured if my tail was hard and sharp enough to pierce the skin of most critters, it could be used as a lockpick in a pinch." He flung himself from the door and hovered in midair. "Took me two years to get it right, though."

Rachel flung the door open and peered inside. "Trevor! Are you in here?"

Slowly, terrified people began to emerge from the cage, and Rachel helped them out. "You're not one of the slavers." One of the women inside said, a little surprised.

Rachel gave her a soft smile. "No. We came here to stop this from happening. Tell me, is there a boy named Trevor in there?"

As more people began to pile out, the woman shook her head. "No, we didn't have any boys in here with us. It's just women, and…"

"Wait!" One of the girls, about Rachel's age blurted out as she emerged. "Did you say Trevor?!"

Rachel nodded sharply. "He's about ten years old; a scrapper, I've been told. A friend of mine is trying to rescue him."

"I hope he can, then." The girl said worriedly. "I'm Lisa Geldis. Trevor is my brother." The Calyssan glanced over to Morris, and the imp mirrored her shock.

Rachel turned back to Lisa and gripped her hands tightly. "We'll find him. In the meantime, can you get these people to safety?"

"I can try." Lisa responded, summoning up some courage. Rachel handed over her crossbow and a few extra darts.

"Take my crossbow for now. I don't expect to see much resistance, but I've been wrong before."

The two girls gave each other one last look before Lisa turned to the still emerging captives. "Come on! We've got to get away from here! Everybody, follow me!" Brandishing Rachel's one-handed crossbow, she transformed into a different woman than the slave who had been shaking moments before. Mutely, and wishing for their freedom like any person would, the rest of the people that Rachel and Morris had freed from the caravan charged off away from the road and the slavers.

Morris rolled over on his back as he flew beside Rachel towards the next barred carriage. "Was that really a smart idea, leaving yourself weaponless?"

The Calyssan smiled and motioned to the whip hanging from the other side of her hip. "I've still got this, Morris."

"Right. You'll leave some welts. That's helpful." The imp snorted, but flew on ahead and latched on to the next lock.

* * *

><p>In a contest of shortsword against longsword, Marik may have had an advantage in dexterity and the length of his blade, but the electrifying current enchanted into the wizard's sword more than made up for it. Any contact, even brushing, sent a jolt through Marik that inflamed his nerves with pain. One glancing blow after another was making him sluggish.<p>

"You're a resilient one, I'll grant you that." The slaver growled, lashing out again. Marik jumped backwards, avoiding any contact at all, and the man pressed his advantage. "I don't often fight mages, but those foolish enough to get into a fight with me usually die quicker than this."

The sword slashed in again, and this time Marik had a response outside of dodging. Tapping back into the power of the rabbit's foot hanging off his waist inside of his robes, he manifested a green hand in front of the man's face and punched him. The weak blow stopped the swing long enough for Marik to dash off into the distance and begin growling another spell. Frustrated, the wizard came after him, slashing wildly. As the distance between them closed, Marik swiveled about, placing all his hopes on a wild gamble. With only three armlengths separating them, Marik slashed his hand out in front of him, concentrating his dispel tighter than ever before.

The slaver mage brought his sword down, and Marik lifted his springloaded longsword to block it. Iron met steel, and they clashed to a halt. But no shock came, to the mages' surprise. Marik's dispel had clouded around it, and the electricity had been suppressed.

_"Maybe they die quickly because you cheat."_ Marik suggested, growling with his second wind. He pushed up and flung the man backwards, and the mage gained a look of fear in his eyes. _"Let's see how well you fight when that shock of yours is nullified, hm?"_

Marik stood up to his full height and pointed with the length of his blade. He was certainly not as skilled a fighter as Ness, but he had determination, and the will to prove that Desmond Rodian's hard work…the work of all those in the Roadside Inn who had raised him…had not been in vain. _"I won't lose to a monster like you."_

"You'd dare call me a monster?!" The slaver mage retorted, his face turning red as he summoned up a crackling locus of electrical energy in his free hand. "Hypocrisy. You dress the part, after all!"

The question rang in Marik's mind again, insistent. **Who are you?**

Not giving the mage the satisfaction of a response, Marik turned his thoughts inwards. _I may be a monster, but I won't stand back and let you get away with destroying FREEDOM!_

Summoning up his Sorceror's hand once again, Marik charged towards his foe. One way or another, it came to an end now.

Trevor was counting on him.

* * *

><p>The second and third carriages, after some cursing and grumbling from Morris as his tail began to grow sore from the work, revealed more people who had been taken by the slavers, but still there was no sign of Trevor. It was only in the fourth and last carriage that a boy's voice responded to the call.<p>

"I'm in here!" He cried out. Rachel let out a sigh of relief before responding.

"Hold on Trevor, we're getting all of you out of there!"

"You mean I am." Morris grumbled, twisting his tail inside of the lock. Contorting his mouth about his tiny fangs, the floppy-eared devil finally grinned as the lock clicked. "Got it." He pulled himself free, and Rachel swung the door open.

Out poured another handful of terrified people, and in the midst of them was a wide-eyed, scruffy haired boy that Morris recognized immediately. "Damnation, Trevor."

The boy's face brightened when he saw the imp, then turned to Rachel. "Are you a friend of Marik's?"

The Calyssan was a little surprised that he would make the connection so fast, but nodded. "We are."

"And where's Marik?"

"He's up at the front of the caravan. He's confronting the mage in charge of this all."

The boy winced, as they turned after the rest of the people who had been freed. "I hope he'll be okay."

"So do I." Rachel echoed his sentiments in a soft voice. The imp just snorted, floating beside the boy's shoulder.

"The both of you worry too much. Trust me, he'll be fine."

"But none of you are." Came a sudden sharp voice. The three froze as one of the slavers stepped out from behind one of the prior carriages, holding one of the captured people at knifepoint. Ordinarily, that would be dangerous enough, but his hostage was someone that made Rachel, and more importantly, Trevor, freeze in panic.

It was Trevor's sister, the fair-haired Lisa that the slaver was threatening to kill.

"End of the line, runt." The brigand snarled, face contorted in rage. "You and your friends have ruined your last shipment."

"Trevor!" Lisa screamed, before the knife dug in harder underneath her chin. The boy tried to step forward, but a jerk of the man's arm, and a small line of blood stopped him again.

"One more step, and the girl dies, kid." The slaver barked. His eyes flickered to the imp and Rachel. "Same goes for you; you're going to stay right where you are."

Tail lashing out behind him in frustration, Morris hissed a question to Rachel. "Just what are we supposed to do now?"

Rachel had never before faced a situation like this. Feebly, she gave the only answer she could. "I don't know."

* * *

><p>It was Ness' luck that the greataxe his opponent was spinning against him was composed entirely of metal, which prevented him from snapping the shaft in two. Between the spear on the hilt and the axehead itself, both ends of the weapon posed a problem. He wasn't exactly an acrobat, either, which made avoiding the attacks a difficult proposition. There'd been a few close calls on both sides, revealed in wounds by a deeper cut on Ness' left arm from a lucky stab that made his swings more sluggish, and a burnished appearance and warping of the links in the slavers' chain mail from some glancing fiery blows by Brightflame.<p>

Still, the greataxe had the upper hand in their duel, providing both reach and flexibility. At points, Ness thought through grit teeth, it was probably only Rachel's blessing which allowed him to fight as evenly as he was. Whatever he was going to do, it would have to be soon. He was running low on endurance, and his left arm was beginning to weaken. He still didn't feel so confident as to wield Brightflame in one hand alone, not against odds like this.

The axe swung in again, and Ness deflected most of the force by holding up Brightflame to counter. The impact jarred him backwards and spun him around. That was all the time that his foe needed to take advantage of the whirling green cloak.

Hiltfirst, the slaver jammed his axe through the thick green cloth, pinning Ness to the ground. Pushing his sudden advantage, he swept in on Ness and administered a punch that sent stars spinning in the Cursed Blades' eyes. It didn't take much after that to disarm Ness, and the trapped swordsman was slammed into the ground, choked by the slavers' thick hands.

Ness resisted, of course, with his neck muscles bulging out to try and preserve his windpipe while his hands tried to feebly pry the grapple away.

At last, the slaver cackled with a wild look in his eyes, squeezing all the harder as Ness' resistance began to give out. "End of the line, hero." He jeered, and Ness could feel his throat closing off.

Tears in his eyes, Ness' weakened left hand fell away from his foe, slumping against his waist. Though it didn't show in his eyes, his hand jumped with hope. He gripped the hilt of the silvered dirk off of his belt, and adrenaline forced him to grasp it and pull it free. While the slaver gloated, Ness slammed the point of the dirk up through the man's stomach. The thin point of the blade punctured through the chain easily, and in a moment, the man's hands fell away from his neck.

The slaver's eyes were wide as he gasped in pain, trying to pull back from Ness and the sharp pain that was gutting him. Taking a rasping breath, Ness mustered his shaky voice. "Heroes don't die to slime like you."

He twisted the knife in the slaver's belly and ripped it free, kicking him away. The man collapsed onto the ground, shaking a few more times before exhaling his final breath.

Ness let his lungs fill up with much needed oxygen for a few moments before pulling the greataxe free of his cloak. Taking one last thankful look at his silvered dagger, Ness put it away and went to retrieve Brightflame. "Sometimes, even the smallest blade can cut the best."

* * *

><p>Slowly, the slaver holding a knife against Lisa's throat began to step backwards with his hostage. Rachel and Morris did nothing, frozen with the threat of harm to the girl. Trevor's arms quivered at his sides, and he glared at the man. "Let my sister go!"<p>

The slaver snorted. "Boy, that might be the silliest thing anybody's ever said to me. Let her go? How stupid do you think I am?"

"Just go, Trevor!" Lisa insisted, tears in her eyes. "Save yourself, get out of here!"

"NO!" The boy screamed, his hands clenching into tight fists. "I'm not losing you! Not like we lost our mother!"

The slaver cackled at that, pulling back a few feet more. "Oh, that's rich. Your mother got sold too? I guess it runs in the family, because your sister here's got places to be."

"Damnitall, we have to do something!" Morris snarled, his tail lashing out behind him. The slaver gave him a withering glare, and the imp fell silent.

"Leave her alone." Trevor stammered out, so softly that even Rachel and Morris strained to make it out.

The slaver paused in midstep, still dragging Lisa with him. "Eh?"

"I said leave her alone." Trevor said again, looking up to the man with burning eyes. "Leave her alone!"

The slaver just laughed, and something seemed to finally snap in the boy. His arm jerked up, and he pointed to the man's face, screaming it again. "_Leave her __**alone**_!"

That was the end of what made sense. After that, a glowing cloud of red light clustered about Trevor's extended hand, as bright as his hair and far more dangerous.

Rachel gasped. Morris squawked. The slaver went pale. "By the gods, what is…"

Trevor let out a bloodcurdling scream, and the red light about his hand shot off as a burning jet of flame that caught the slaver full on in the face. It hit perfectly, and the slaver stumbled back from Lisa, screaming in pain and clawing at his badly burned face. Trevor's sister ran quickly to join him, and Morris leapt into action, flying to the man and paralyzing him with a quick dose of his tail's venom.

When it was all over, Lisa was hugging Trevor tight and crying, and Rachel and Morris stepped about them protectively. The boy just stared down with his hazel eyes to his hand, as if he expected it to come alight again. "What did I do?" He whispered, afraid.

Afraid of himself, Morris realized…And for good reason. _What was it Marik said? He 'had a feeling' about Trevor?_

The imp cleared his throat as he landed on Trevor's arm, folding his wings like a cloak around himself. "Trevor, I think you and Marik need to have a talk."

"Why?" The boy asked, still in a state of shock. The imp glanced up at Rachel for a moment before matching gazes with the ten year old child they'd finally saved from the slave caravan.

"I think he might be able to give you a few pointers, kid." Morris Redtail explained, blinking once. "Because it seems you're a Sorceror."

* * *

><p>The wizard in charge of the caravan fought bravely, given the loss of his weapon's potent electrical charge. Soon after their first exchange of blows, he'd brought up his own green aura, giving him the same protection that Marik relied on time and time again. Their swords clashed off of each other, then slipped by and landed glancing blows off of the magical enchantments that protected them. The electrically charged hand of the slaver posed a difficult problem, but Marik's magical hand, unable to wrestle the grip entirely away, managed well enough throughout to blunt aside that desperate attack.<p>

One thing was becoming clear to both, though. The slaver mage was not used to fighting for such extended periods, and Marik was winning.

Sweat beaded along his brow, he stepped a fair distance away from Marik to catch his breath. "Lands above, you're good." He growled, staring daggers to the floating green hand which had prevented him from landing his electrical grasp onto Marik. He let the sparks of electricity vanish from his fingertips, seeing that they were useless. "Even if you do cheat."

_"All I've been trying to do is level the playing field."_ Marik growled, and his green hand dissipated. He kept his guard up, but made no direct movements towards the man. _"You've been the one cheating."_

"Me? Cheating?" The wizard snorted, setting his free hand to his waist. He waited a few moments before slowly moving his hand behind his back, keeping the conversation going. "What makes you think that?"

_"You ganged up on me in the warehouse…"_

"Hmm, I'm still trying to figure out how exactly you got out of there so quickly, even with help."

_"…You come at me hurling every spell you can think of, electrocute me, and then use a sword which gives you an unfair advantage. I'd consider that foul play."_ Marik finished, his voice gaining a watery rasp to it. The wizard lifted an eyebrow, finally having the time to consider the eccentricities surrounding Marik.

"You know, that voice of yours, it's very peculiar, you know that?" The wizard remarked, and finally set the hand behind his back moving in an intricate pattern. The next spell he would use he knew well enough to cast without having to reach for his components pouch. More importantly, with a little modification, he could cast it without having to utter the incantation which would give it away.

"Yes, peculiar. It's not any accent I'm familiar with." He said while thinking through the possibilities. All the while, he kept his concentration running on the spell in his hand. Marik said nothing, frozen somewhere between fright that his identity would be discovered, and the casual nature at which the man approached it. "Tell me, just where does such a mage like yourself hail from?"

Marik slowly rotated his head back and forth, and bent down for one last lunge.

The wizard sighed and gave his head a shake. "Not only are you aggravating, but you have no courtesy either. Oh well." He moved to shrug, and only at the last moment did Marik notice the red bead of light at his fingertip. "Die, then." The wizard snarled, all humor vanishing in an instant from his face.

Underneath the darkness of his hood, Marik's deep eyes went wide in horror. A fireblast spell. There was no time to get out of the way, no time to move. Even as he began to run over the short list of options, the wizard slammed his arm down and flung the bead of condensed magical fire towards him. Aimed precisely, the fireblast bead soared towards Marik and exploded, capturing him in the blast radius which extended to a few feet short of the wizard himself. The slaver mage covered his eyes from the heat for a moment, then waited for the smoke and fire to die down. He couldn't stop from smiling in triumph, as that would be enough to bring down any fool.

Yet when the smoke cleared, it was shock that the wizard wore. Slowly, Marik emerged from the fires, his black cloak singed and a wavy field of shimmering force glistening about him, repelling the fires. "You…You couldn't have survived that!" The slaver wizard stammered, aghast.

Marik hadn't had the time to muster a full dispel, as Milon Friss had taught him. The best he could manage under the circumstances was a cloud of raw power, which blunted the force of the fireblast enough to help him survive it. Smoke watering up his eyes and causing him to cough, the Sorceror forced tired and burned muscles to walk him out of the remains of the blaze towards the man.

Terrified, the mage stumbled backwards, waving a hand towards Marik. "Stay back!" He shouted. Three rays of fire gushed out of his fingertips, trying to claim Marik's life, but they reached the edge of his robes and snuffed out, extinguished by Marik's resistances. "Damn you, die already!"

Marik growled as he continued to walk towards the man, and then vanished completely. It was an invisibility spell, the wizard noted as he whirled wildly about, trying to place Marik by the sound of his footsteps.

Long seconds passed, with him whipping his shortsword about in all directions. "Blast it, you coward!"

It was the last boast he made before Marik's longsword pierced cleanly through his torso, and out of his front. Coughing up blood, the wizard realized too late that he'd been overcome, perhaps even overwhelmed, from the beginning.

_"I won't die today, and not by you." _Marik growled, his hood leaning over and covering the man's head as he spoke. _"But you've ruined your last life. This slave trade is finished."_

The man trembled, his clothes turning dark red from the blood. "Who are you?"

Again, that damnable question. Again, it echoed in Marik's mind. **Who are you?**

Knowing the man's time was at an end, Marik extended his left hand out over the man's shoulder and gripped it, providing support for the moment when he'd need to retract his blade. _"What do you think, coward?"_

The wizard's breathing fell into gasps, for at last he pieced the watery warble of Marik's tone together with his six-fingered hand. "You're…a monster…" He wheezed, breathing his last.

Marik ripped his blade free from the man's torso and let the body collapse to the ground. Once again, he hid his hand into the long confines of his sleeve, and twisted his right wrist to retract the longsword.

_Then I'm a monster. _Marik thought dully, becoming accustomed to the idea more and more. It had been true so many times before in his life, and it was true now. He paused and took one last look at the slaver's corpse, and a moment of doubt lingered in his mind.

_But who is more of a monster, then? I, for what I am? Or you, for all that you have done?_

The medallion that rested against his chest pulsed again, incapable of doing anything else. Marik gave his head a shake and turned for the rear of the caravan, following his emphatic link to Morris, and towards Rachel, whose healing touch his ravaged body so desperately needed. The caravan was quiet, and how successful the others had been was yet to be seen. But at least worrying about that was preferable.

It was better than beating his head against that damnable question of identity.

* * *

><p>The few slavers who had survived the assault were rounded up and caged in one of their own slave carriages; As for those who Ness and his allies had freed, they passed along their thanks and headed east, either back to the life they knew, or to the border, where they would be safe upon entering into Samael's Lands.<p>

Trevor Geldis and his sister Lisa, after sharing their last name to their heroes again, lingered on afterwards. With Morris perched on his shoulder, Marik took the boy aside to sit out on the open highway for their discussion. Ness was off rounding up the horses and pilfering what was of value from their defeated foes, which left Lisa to stare towards her younger brother, with Rachel somewhere nearby.

Lisa Geldis fretted, absentmindedly stroking at her elbow. "Would you care for some tea?" The question made her startle, and she looked back to Rachel, who smiled and offered her a warm cup of sweet-smelling liquid. "It's fresh."

"I…Thank you." Lisa said gratefully, accepting it. The gesture was a welcome one after her experience, and made the eldest Geldis feel almost human after nearly losing all hope. Sipping it once with a nod, she glanced back to her brother, the imp, and the Sorceror some fifty feet distant from the now defeated caravan. "Just what do you suppose they're talking about?"

Rachel walked up beside Lisa, resting her own teacup against the crook of her arm. Her long brown hair trailed out behind her in the breeze, and quiet blue eyes sought out the solution to that same question herself. "To be honest, I have no idea."

* * *

><p>The boy sat cross-legged, nearly mirroring Marik's mannerisms as he sat there contemplating things. "I don't understand." He protested feebly, glancing up to the faceless black void within Marik's draped hood. "Just what am I?"<p>

_"You're a Sorceror."_

"But that's impossible! I don't practice magic, I…"

_"Wizards practice magic." _Marik corrected him, cool and collected. _"Sorcerors _are_ magic. Morris told me what you did to save your sister; Every Sorceror ever written about went through something just like that.."_

"They did?"

_"Read enough history, and you'll come across that." _Slowly, Marik unfolded his sleeved arms, letting them fall to his sides. _"You're afraid?"_

"Shouldn't I be?" Trevor whispered, tears in his hazel eyes. "Sorcerors are evil!"

Marik winced at the connotation. _"Not every Sorceror is evil."_

"Really?" Trevor prodded, panicking. "Give me one example of a Sorceror that wasn't!"

_"Me."_ Marik rasped. The silence hung between for a few moments, as the boy's mind ran the truth of that.

"You're a Sorceror?" Trevor whispered. Marik's hood bobbed up and down, and Morris chuckled, walking across the ground to Trevor's leg.

"Come on, kid. Isn't it obvious? Wizards might have pets, but only Sorcerors keep friends like me around."

Trevor glanced up again, slowly nodding. "I guess you're right then. But what about me? I don't know what I'm doing. It all just happened so fast. What do I do now?"

_"It's up to you, really." _Marik commented. _"Your choice. After all, didn't you tell me you've always been free?" _

Trevor smiled at that. "Yes. I did."

_"Then it applies here. You could go on living your life; let whatever power you hold just remain untested and untried. Or you could try to harness the gift you've been given; It doesn't matter, as long as you're always going towards a life worth living."_

Trevor slowly nodded his head at that, and looked down to Morris. "So what would you suggest?"

The imp thought it over for a moment, pleased that the red-haired boy was seeking his opinion. "Well, I've always believed that you have to follow your heart. But that said, it would be a damn shame to give up on something that most people never have a dream of receiving."

Trevor bit his lip. "Will it change me?"

"Seems to me you're already changed, kid." Morris snorted, scratching at one of his large ears. "The Trevor we met earlier today couldn't have saved his sister like that. The Trevor we knew earlier today would have just given in."

Trevor nodded his head. "My sister's the most important person in my life. After mom…" His voice trailed off, and he grew sad.

_"She died, didn't she?"_

"No." Trevor answered. "She was taken and sold by those slavers. Lisa and I have been trying to avoid them ever since." Trevor looked up to Marik, his eyes shining. "I didn't think anybody could stand up against them. And then you came along, Marik. How do you do that?"

_"Do what?"_

"You got beaten up by them. You risked everything for me. Why?"

_"Do I need a reason?" _Marik asked, after a pause. The boy nodded, and the Sorceror sighed. _"I suppose I just had a feeling about you. Given what's happened, it must have been justified." _Marik summoned up his Sorceror's hand, wiggling the index finger back and forth. _"And besides, Mr. Geldis, I was raised to always try to do the right thing."_

"And that includes helping out strangers you meet out on the street?"

_"Always." _Marik finished firmly. _"Trevor, it won't be an easy road that's been set in front of you. Sorcerors are a misunderstood lot, to be sure. But if you keep at it, the rewards are worth it." _The green hand disappeared, and Marik nodded. _"If there's one trick to magic I can pass on, it's this; You are only limited by the depth of your own imagination."_

Trevor stood up, with Marik doing the same soon after as Morris flew back into the air. "Just who are you, Marik? Really?"

**Who are you?** Again the question came, and sobered the moment. _"I'm a monster trying to prove he isn't one."_

Trevor frowned at the notion. "Whatever would give you the idea that you were a monster?" Marik said nothing, shocked at the force of the rebuttal, so Trevor pressed on, pointing his index finger at the man. "You're no monster, Marik. So don't you ever talk like that again."

Stupefied, Marik fell silent. Morris guffawed, pleased at the result. "Well, boss, you can't argue with that logic. I'm liking this kid more and more."

Marik just sighed and motioned with a sleeve. _"Come on. Let's get you back to your sister, before she worries too much."_

* * *

><p>His work finished, Ness brushed some dust off of his hands and approached the two young women. "Those slavers were carrying some decent material." He commented. "I've stacked their foodstores with the horses. As for the money?" He grinned and held up a jingling satchel of coins. "As they say, it's only thievery if it's taken from honest folk."<p>

Rachel smiled at the notion as she put away the teacups she and Lisa had been using. "Ness, really. You're incorrigible some days."

"Funny, I thought I was incorrigible most days." The swordsman mused, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marik, Morris, and Trevor approaching them. "So, what did you three talk about?"

Trevor went up beside his sister, beaming. "Guess what, sis? Turns out I'm a Sorceror."

The girl gasped. "You can't be serious!"

"He's being perfectly serious." Morris interjected, crossing his short arms. "Marik confirmed it."

Trevor gained a nervous look, digging his toe into the dirt. "That's…that's okay though, right sis?" She'd recovered from her shock, and the girl smiled and pulled him into a hug.

"You're still my little brother."

"So what will you two do now?" Rachel asked, curious. "Will you go back to Road's End, or…"

"No, no." Lisa said, shaking her head. "I think we've had our fill of life in Istus. We'll head east; maybe we can make a life for ourselves in Samael's Lands, where nobody will enslave us."

Marik stirred for a moment, then sent a thought Morris' way. The imp's ears twitched for a moment before he smiled at the notion, chuckling. "Say, I've got a better idea, if it's all the same to you."

All eyes turned to them, and Trevor spoke. "Oh? What's that, Morris?"

"Well, it seems to me that you're a Sorceror who doesn't know how to be one." Morris began casually. "And that's just unacceptable. If you're feeling up to a walk, I'd suggest traveling to Korleen."

Lisa Geldis paled. "Korleen? But that's nearly on the other side of Ashra! Why would we go there?"

"Because there's a place that I know of where you two will be safe, and well taken care of." Morris continued. "That's because that's where Marik was raised. The Roadside Temple, in the central province. Marik learned how to be a Sorceror there, and they'd be willing to do the same for Trevor. Just tell 'em that Marik and Morris sent you, and ask for Headmaster Rodian."

"Headmaster Rodian. Right." Trevor said, ingraining the name into his mind. "But what about my sister?"

"Seems to me she'd go with you." Morris chuffed. "And besides, I imagine that all the priests in that dilapidated place would be grateful for a woman's touch, and a few hot meals." The imp grinned at them. "So what do you say? Is the idea appealing?"

Trevor looked to his sister, almost begging. The girl sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind going to a place that would welcome us, after all we've been through, but how are we supposed to get there? We don't have any money, or protection."

Ness mulled the idea over in his mind, admitting defeat with a shrug of his shoulders before he tossed over the heavy purse of coins. Lisa caught it with a squeak, and the Cursed Blade managed a halfhearted smile. "That should cover your journey, if you're frugal. Courtesy of your former captors."

"And one other thing." Morris interrupted, as Marik's magical hand dug about in his enchanted haversack. Out of the curious storage space, the Sorceror pulled the electrically imbued shortsword that the slaver wizard had dueled him with. Sheathed in its scabbard, the crackling energies were restrained, and the blade was safe to handle. The hand carried it over to Trevor, who accepted it with a fair amount of surprise. "You'll need some protection out there. Put it to better use than the coward who owned it before, promise me?"

"I promise!" Trevor chirped, and for the first time all day, the boy seemed truly alive. It made Marik smile an invisible smile, warming his heart. The boy was at the beginning of a new journey, and hope was the order of the day.

His sister Lisa seemed even more thankful. "You've done so much for us. How can we ever thank you?"

"Just try not to be caught by slaver cabals again." Ness winked. "That's all the thanks we need."

"We'll be in Istus a while longer, too." Rachel added, looking to Lisa. "If we hear about your mother, we'll be sure to try and let you know."

To this, the girl seemed properly interested. "What would keep such noble people as yourselves here in Istus? What are you all up to?"

The Cursed Blade swept back his newly restored green cloak with a stern nod. "We're after an assassin known as the Grey Shadow."

Lisa lifted an eyebrow. "The…Grey Shadow?"

"Yeah, you've probably heard some of the rumors, being from around here." Morris began casually.

"No, no, that's not it at all." Lisa interrupted excitably. "I just remembered! Earlier today, when I was being held at the warehouse in Road's End, the mage in charge of them all was talking loudly. He mentioned that the women were going to be processed at Cerzya's Den, before being taken to the home of the Grey Shadow."

Stunned, Ness and his comrades exchanged searching looks. Rachel turned the fastest. "Are you sure about that? That's what he said?"

"As certainly as anything else." Lisa assured them. "I apologize, it's not much, but I hope it helps you."

Ness exhaled. "Oh, it's a good lead, all right. A dangerous lead, to be sure, but a lead nonetheless." He looked to Marik, rubbing at his chin. "It's funny. I'd almost grown accustomed to the thought that diverting ourselves from the search for the Shadow was a waste of time." He harrumphed with a weak smile. "I guess even old sellswords like myself can be wrong."

Ness and his comrades parted ways from Lisa and Trevor Geldis soon afterwards, with the young Sorceror and his sister going east, and the party of three and their imp going steadfastly west. It had been a long day, to be sure, but a profitable one. With a new lead, they were now hot on the Shadow's trail again. Ness considered it astounding fortune. Marik thought it a convergence of roads. Only Rachel thought their chance meeting had been the work of some divine influence, but that was her job.

"You know, Marik, that's a side of you I've never seen before." Ness observed, as they rode alongside each other on the western highway. The Sorceror stirred from his thoughts and turned his hood towards their leader, letting Morris do the talking.

"What do you mean by that?" The imp prodded, flopping off of Marik's shoulder into a low hover with his wings beating against the wind.

"Well, it's just that you've always tried to keep a distant air around yourself. But you genuinely liked that boy, cared for him, really."

Marik could feel Rachel's searching blue eyes wandering over him, evaluating him again. He offered a mild shrug for his comrades.

"Trevor turned out to be a Sorceror. I found myself remembering what it was like for me, growing up with my magic. Maybe I just took pity on him, hmm?"

"No, I don't think so." Rachel murmured, a fondness and respect in her voice that hurt him more than any wayward glance in Ness' direction could have. "You try to keep it hidden, but I can see it as clear as day. You care about people."

Silently, Marik nodded, and Morris spoke on for him. "Nobody…nobody should be a slave. I value freedom more than anything else."

"And you wanted to rescue Trevor because of that?"

"No, not just that." Morris continued, and Marik's translation grew soft. "It was the right thing to do."

The implication of that wasn't lost on Rachel, who smiled to the point of blushing and turned away. Marik and Morris fell silent, perhaps feeling that at last, they'd said enough. Ness just hummed an old warsong to himself, content that they were all alive and they'd done a good deed. Tomorrow could bring what it would, and he'd worry about it then. For the time being, he could revel in a little triumph and goodwill.

The Shadow beckoned, and they pressed on.

* * *

><p><em>The Lair of the Grey Shadow<em>

_Nightfall Valley, Southwestern Istus_

Beyond the skies which seemed endlessly gray and dreary, the Grey Shadow finished his trek up the stairless incline halfway into the hills he kept his home in. Moving through the open maw of his home, he gave a brief nod of approval to the two monstrous statues resting on the pedestals in the first room. They stirred from stone sleep and shifted their heads toward him, not in the least bit worried.

Their master had come home.

Minutes later, he entered a room with unmatched elegance, compared to the roughly hewn walls and tunnels he'd gone through before. The room was lit by braziers about the perimeter. It glimmered with icons forged of precious metals and housed a large carpet of royal violet beneath his feet.

Two maidservants, still young and beautiful in their own right, stepped about to meet him as he walked to the middle of his audience room. The first, a girl with long black hair and a blank expression, blinked once in a dreamy haze of happiness.

"Welcome home, master." She said, the timbre of her voice unnatural and forced. "Did you have a good trip?"

The Grey Shadow felt a rumble of satisfaction roll through his body, and he walked up the raised steps to his large chair, nearly a throne. _"Oh, it was interesting." _He commented. He pulled off his swords and the two life-stealing daggers he had taken from the Mist Riders in Baraden. Once relaxed in his seat, he took another glance down to his two servants. _"Did anyone visit while I was away?"_

"Just a few envoys from the underdwellers, milord. We told them to call again when you were present."

The second one with trimmed blond hair approached him and held out her hands expectantly. Behind his metallic faceplate, shaped to resemble the facsimile of a skull, the Shadow smiled, and reached his hands up to the sides of his face. Pushing back the veiled shroud that covered where ears should have been, his inhuman fingers flipped the hidden latches that kept his faceplate locked against his face. With the sound of a click, he smoothly pulled off his mask and the cloth attached to it, and dropped it in his second servant's hands. She accepted it reverently and stepped away from him.

Still wearing his enchanted and tightly woven body armor, the Grey Shadow relaxed in his audience hall, resting hands bred for killing on the armrests of his throne. Again, one of his maids approached him.

"Master, what can I get for you? What would please you?"

A face that was the farthest thing from human curled into a smile that would have made stout hearts shudder. _"For the moment, nothing. I simply wish to sit and enjoy my home."_ He thought it over, and nodded. _"But you may bring me my scrying glass in an hour's time. There is still business to be done."_

"My only desire is to serve you, lord." The woman bowed, her voice as empty as ever. She and her counterpart retreated, leaving his faceplate and cloth mask resting on a stand beside his pavilion. The Shadow allowed himself a bit of a chuckle, curling a clawlike finger against the wood of his throne.

**I know it is, slave. After all, it is the only desire I allowed you to keep.**

His maidservants left by the northern door, and the Shadow relaxed, glancing about. The walls of his audience hall were covered with grisly plaques, mantles that held the heads of creatures of all sorts. There was the head of the troll, severed and burned at the stump, forever snarling in death. A bit farther down the line, a shapechanger, a doppelganger as the featureless creatures were sometimes called, looked out blankly. An entire wall of his room was dedicated to those who had been foolish enough to take him on; A crusty, blond-bearded dwarf, a few elven heads, some underdwellers, and nearly every other sort you could imagine.

While examining the minotaur's cranium on his western wall, the Shadow felt his thoughts slipping back to the Cursed Blade and his team. That swordsman and his companions, the girl and Marik and the imp.

**What did I say before? **He mused, stroking at his chin. **Oh yes. Ness' head will join my collection. The imp, I'll split asunder and send back to the Depths. And Marik?**

He let that aspect trail off when he heard the dull footsteps of his enslaved and mindless women servants beyond his hall.

**As for that brown-haired girl…**

What served as his mouth curled into a smile as his alien sense of satisfaction and pleasure took hold.

**This lair could use a new maidservant.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's<strong> **Note**_

_One of my reviewers pointed out that since this falls under the purview of an original work of fantasy, it rightly deserves to have a home at Fictionpress, the sister website to Fanfiction. If you wish to continue following the adventures of Marik and company, please look for the rest of the story there. I will be publishing this under the name "Ericobard". Because, apparently, I can't use Erico for both websites. _


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